


White Blank Page

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Case Fic, Developing Relationship, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Underage, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever seen the Gwyneth Paltrow movie <i>Sliding Doors</i>? In it, we see the events in a young woman’s life unfold based on whether or not she makes it onto a train on the London Underground. Does she catch her sketchy BF cheating on her or not? Does she find the love of her life or not?</p><p>The plot of <i>Company Man</i> got me to thinking a similar thing. Below is a look at two realities – one where Peter “went corporate,” and one that offers an alternative ending to the episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Blank Page

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a song by Mumford and Sons.

_”Peter!” Neal said._

_“What’s going on?”_

_“His heart’s stopped.”_

Then there was blackness. _Blankness_. He had no thoughts in his head, just…nothing. 

Followed by a searing pain in his chest as the paramedics jabbed a needle filled with epinephrine right into his heart. He yelled in pain and surprise, strained to sit up, but the medics held him down, shoved an oxygen mask over his face.

“Jesus, what the fuck!” Peter gasped, clutching at his chest, his eyes screwed shut. He felt a warm hand close over his – Neal’s.

“Thought we lost you,” he said. He looked on the verge of tears.

Peter had nothing to say – couldn’t if he wanted to. He laid his head back and tried to catch his breath as the paramedics wheeled him out to the street.

Kent was there, on a stretcher, looking as pale and sweaty as Peter felt. A junior agent cuffed him to his stretcher. “ What – what are you doing?” he said.

Peter fumbled for his badge with numb fingers. It was probably overkill, but he couldn’t resist the urge to tweak the smug bastard. “You confessed to a Federal agent. You’re under arrest for the murder of Joseph Hayes.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“You give me the facts, I’ll give you the law.” Diana appeared and waved to the agents and medics and Kent was wheeled away, out of Peter’s sight. 

“Thanks, Di.” She shrugged and walked away.

“You’re not the only one who makes dumb decisions.” Neal said as he walked up, looking only slightly less worried than before. Peter had an unnatural urge to push that damn lock of hair that kept flopping into his eyes out of the way. 

“Saving Kent?” he said instead.

“You’re taking this ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing a little too far.”

Peter shook his head; would the kid ever get it? “If he lives or dies, it’s not my call.”

“Whose is it?”

“You do what’s right, you let the pieces fall where they fall.” He glanced up at the medics as they wheeled him over to the ambulance. When he looked back at Neal, he was watching him go, his brow creased – from worry or consternation, Peter wasn’t sure. 

\----

Peter woke to find his hospital room awash in sunlight. He blinked, momentarily disoriented.

“Hi, Hon.”

He turned his head to see Elizabeth sitting beside the bed, smiling at him cheerfully. “Hi, Hon.”

“How are you feeling?” She moved to his side and began to fuss with his pajamas, planted a kiss on his lips. He reveled in their softness – how close had he come to never experiencing that again? He shuddered to think of it. 

“Chest still hurts. Tired. Otherwise, just peachy.”

“The doctor said if the tests come back normal, you’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”

“That will be a relief.”

“And he also said you’ll need to be on bed rest for at least a week.”

“Ow! A week? I’ve got cases out the wazoo!”

“Stop complaining, or I’ll make it two weeks.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a slight smile, and she kissed him again. 

“Have you talked to Neal?” she said.

He shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since the other night.” El made a _that’s strange_ face. “Something up?” 

“I guess not, but he was hovering so closely the other night, I swear he was as worried about you as I was.”

“Neal? You’re not starting that whole thing again.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Honey, come on.”

“Tell me you don’t think he has feelings for you and I’ll leave it alone.”

“I _hope_ he doesn’t have feelings for me.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean _why?_ I’m a married man!”

“With a very understanding wife.”

“With a crazy wife. Come on, stop it.”

“Peter, you know I never want you to deny who or what you are. I knew you were bi the day I married you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d step out on my wife.”

“It’s not stepping out if she comes with you.”

He gave her a _Woman, please_ look. “You’re reading too much into this. Besides, whether I’m interested or not, it’d be doomed from the start. He works for me.”

“Well, that won’t last forever. I see how you are together. It’s good. You’re good together.”

“I’m better with you. Drop it, El, please.”

“Fine,” she said with a look on her face that he knew meant she hadn’t.

Peter picked up the TV remote, tuned to CNN and pretended to be interested in an interview with a World Bank economist, all the while thinking through what El had said. Truth be told, he _had_ noticed the way Neal’s behavior had changed of late, but he’d chalked it up to their getting closer through working together, the fact Peter’d helped him through the aftermath of Kate’s death. Any attachment there was most certainly a byproduct of that. And as attractive as Neal was – not to mention how attractive the prospect of even the _fantasy_ of being with him was – he refused to let it affect him. There really were too many complications to it.

As always, any thought of Neal lately brought with it a twinge of guilt for keeping music box a secret. He hated to think what Neal would do if he could get his hands on it, didn’t want to see how he’d react. The thing had cost him so much – what might he do to uncover its secrets? 

No, keeping it from Neal was still the right thing to do, at least for the time being. Peter knew with certainty that he was protecting his partner. 

\----

Peter returned to work well-rested and thankful to be there. After over a week of forced inactivity, he’d been climbing the walls most days. And it wasn’t as if he could’ve done anything useful around the house, or even taken the dog for a run, because he was supposed to rest.

So many people stopped him to welcome him back to work, it took him a good fifteen minutes to make it up to his office. He moved around his desk, set his things down, caught a glimpse of the picture of Elizabeth he kept there, and smiled. Certainly it was the near-death experience, but lately he was feeling very sappy whenever he thought of his wife. He glanced up at the bullpen and saw the team milling around, caught sight of Neal coming through from the coffee room and felt the same sentimentality for them all. _To think what he’d almost lost_ he thought, silently addressing El’s picture. 

“Lookin’ good,” Neal said from the doorway a few minutes later, interrupting his thoughts.

“Feeling even better. I got a clean bill of health this morning.” Peter took a sip of coffee and grimaced. Man, the stuff the Bureau stocked really was horrid.

“You know, there’s a coffee shop a couple blocks away. I hear they make a pretty good espresso.”

“This tastes just fine to me,” Peter lied.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t miss it. The imported beans. The giant office and swanky suite.”

Peter looked at him, his head cocked to the side. “All right, I’m gonna humor you for a second. What if I went corporate right after college? Best case scenario: I became a millionaire.”

“Sounds like a pretty good scenario.”

“Mmm. One with a flip side. What if I never joined the FBI?”

“Would’ve made my life a lot easier.”

Peter smirked. “Mine too. But what if, twelve years ago I was never assigned to an art gallery scam downtown? What if I never met this assistant manager?” He pointed at El’s picture. “No, there are more important things in life than a nice view.”

He looked up at Neal, saw the eagerness in his face, the way he was paying attention, and realized he didn’t like the idea of a life without his partner in his life either. His voice was suddenly thick with emotion. “Like having people in your life you care about. I don’t want to imagine the man I’d be without those people. I like the man I am.” He blinked back the sudden tears, but didn’t feel self-conscious about them. He knew Neal understood.

“Do what’s right,” Neal said, and Peter thought he heard a hint of bitterness. He blinked.

“Yeah.”

“You lied to me about the music box. I know you still have it.” There it was. A brief flicker of pain flashed through Neal’s eyes which he quickly suppressed. The fact that he had to suppress that hurt Peter more than he thought it would.

“How did you find out –“

“Mozzie found the sheet music. It wasn’t hard from there. You ready to talk about it?”

“If you’re ready to listen.”

“I want to see it.”

“Sure. Tonight. I’ll bring it by tonight.”

Neal nodded and left without another word. Peter watched him go a little sadly. He took another sip of his coffee and winced at its harshness. He’d gotten used to the high quality brew at Novice Systems pretty quickly – he wondered if he really could’ve been that guy. 

It wasn’t as if he _hadn’t_ thought about it over the course of the last two weeks. _What if he had gone another route?_

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**ANOTHER ROUTE: JULY, 2001**

“PETER BURKE? IS THAT – YES, IT IS YOU! It’s been an age, my man.” Jerry Rhinehart strode across the lobby to shake Peter’s hand.

“Jerry,” Peter greeted warmly, “how are you? It’s been too long! What are you up to?”

“I’m at this new startup downtown. Pharmaceuticalss - exciting, cool stuff. How about you?”

“Still in audit over at Arthur Andersen.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

“Great. If I bill 90 hours a week, I’ll make partner in ten short years,” Peter said ruefully. “How’s your gig?”

“I tell ya, Peter, it’s fun, scary, exciting and maddening all at the same time. Meet me for a drink tonight and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Peter met with his old business school classmate and by the time dinner turned into brandies at a local cigar bar, Jerry had convinced him to take a job at his new company, Cogent Pharmaceuticals, as their CFO. The money was going to suck at first, but they’d found an investor who was willing to take a chance, and Peter would receive an equity stake in the company. Jerry had hooked up with a wunderkind molecular biologist out of Harvard who had been working on treatments for childhood leukemia.

The next three years were among the most exciting of Peter’s life, as he and Jerry built Cogent first into a boutique testing and research firm to pay the bills, while their products were in development. Peter’s pragmatism and instincts for good investment had them turning a profit by the end of their third year, while Jerry’s expert salesmanship and knack for PR garnered early buzz for the firm. 

Those three years, and the three that followed, were also lonely ones for Peter, if he took the time to think about it, but the work was satisfying and challenging enough to distract. 

Their initial product, Zolphecid, was fast-tracked for FDA approval and launched in the summer of 2005, making their IPO among the most anticipated of 2006. But by 2009, however, an inability to diversify their product line had led to talk that the bloom was off the rose for Cogent, and that it was an acquisition target for one of the multinationals. 

No one felt this more keenly than Peter Burke, who fielded calls daily from investment bankers and journalists alike, looking to feel him out on the company’s “exit strategy.” But Peter and Jerry were holding out; The R&D team had isolated a string of proteins associated with HIV infections, and it meant the technology behind their drugs could be used beyond its original scope. It was their hope that it would be the breakthrough that would take the company to its next growth plateau. They had had success in the lab and were about to begin human testing, as soon as they got the necessary FDA approvals.

\----

**MAY, 2009**

“Hey, I’m going to go talk to that financial reporter from MSNBC,” Jerry said to Peter. 

The two had been invited to a fundraiser for a youth arts program that was being sponsored by Cogent’s investment bank at a gallery in SoHo. Jerry’s boyish good looks and easy-going personality got him lots of play with women, a fact he loved to gently rub in Peter’s face. For his part, Peter found Jerry's need to compete with him endlessly amusing, considering Peter took no time for any type of relationship; he found little joy in meaningless sexual conquests. 

“If you can turn it into a feature story, let me know.” Peter watched him go, marveling at how Jerry was able to have the beautiful young woman eating out of his hand in a matter of minutes. He turned his attention to an installation of baled clothing in the middle of the floor, arranged in shades of white and blue, and shook his head in consternation – he had a very well-developed appreciation for art, but sometimes he wondered if the artists weren’t pulling a joke on all of them.

His phone buzzed, and Peter removed it from his pocket; he had it programmed to ping him every time there was a score in that night’s Yankees/Red Sox game. The Sox were closing the gap on the Yanks in the division race, and if he couldn’t be home to watch it, he’d at least know what was happening. 

“So what’s the score?” a voice, smooth as velvet, said at his shoulder. Peter turned and encountered a young man with an easy smile looking at him. 

“Sox just tied it,” Peter told him, frowning. “Bottom of the fifth.”

The man nodded and gave a knowing smile. “Who’s on the mound?”

“Chamberlain.”

The young man winced. “They’ve got to work on their middle relief.”

“You think?” Peter agreed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Didn’t expect to encounter a sports fan at one of these things,” he added, trying to make conversation. The young man was pleasant enough, handsome with dark hair swept back off his forehead, an open and appealing expression on his face.

“I have many interests,” he replied with a mischievous smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“OK, but I’m pretty sure they’re free,” Peter said, and immediately felt awkward. He’d gotten far in his life, but it was thanks to hard work and competence, not schmoozing, and he often felt foolish when he did it.

But the younger man laughed at Peter’s lame joke, putting him immediately at ease. “What are you having?”

“Bourbon.”

“Great, I’ll be right back. I’m Neal, by the way.” 

He held his hand out and Peter shook it; Neal grasped onto Peter’s hand with both of his and squeezed warmly, a winning smile on his face. Peter found himself blushing as the young man walked away. 

They passed the hour in pleasant conversation, touching on art, city politics, and finally circling back to baseball. For both men, it was a love affair with the game that began in childhood. 

“I even played a little, in college,” Peter was saying. As usual, he was being modest about his accomplishments; he’d gone to Cornell on a baseball scholarship and had already been scouted by several clubs until a knee injury sidelined him. 

“What position?” 

“Pitcher.”

“Really? Starter?

Peter nodded. “Yeah, but it was not to be. I’m sure it was for the best, though, because look at me now.” He smiled ruefully and took another swig from his glass. “You don’t look like much of a baseball guy. You play?”

“Yeah, a bit when I was a kid, but not seriously. Football was more my game. I love baseball, though. Have since the ’86 Mets.” 

“Game Six,” they both said together in that tone of admiration only a true fan would appreciate, and then laughed. 

“I was at that game,” Neal said. 

Peter laughed. “What were you, an infant?”

Neal grinned. “I was nine. My old man took me. I don’t think I’d ever heard anything as loud as the crowd when that ball got past Buckner.”

Peter was smiling too, and nodding. “I was there too. My uncle had box seats and let me come, even though I’m a Yankees fan.”

“Oh, that was big of him. That was some game.”

“Yeah, it really taught me something. I mean, no matter how far behind in the count you get, you’ve really just got to keep swinging away. You’ve got to take a chance on yourself, believe in yourself.” Peter realized he had zoned out a bit as he spoke. When he looked back at Neal, he was looking back at him thoughtfully. 

Neal ducked his head. “Yeah, that and hope the first baseman makes the error of the century.”

Peter laughed. “Well, I suppose luck has a bit to do with it from time to time too. Hey, I see you’re on ‘E.’ Can I get you another drink?” Peter gestured over to the open bar.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to get going. Big meeting in the morning I’ve got to prep for. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Peter.” Neal held out his hand. 

Peter shook the proffered hand warmly, a smile lighting up his face. “And you, Neal. And you.”

Neal left the party and Peter watched him go, momentarily happy to have made a connection with someone outside the office. He sighed, ordered another drink and went off in search of Jerry.

\----

The next day, Peter sat in his office reviewing the quarterly financial statements when there was a knock at his door and his assistant Penny poked her head in. “Your 10:00 is here,” she told him.

He looked up, removed his glasses. “Is it that time already?” he asked. He always said that to her, and she always responded, “It is indeed.” It was their thing. She handed him the cup of espresso she’d brought for him and left. 

Peter wandered over to his window and looked out over the river towards New Jersey, sipping thoughtfully. He turned when he heard a footfall behind him.

“Peter Burke, this is…” Penny was saying.

“Neal!” Peter finished for her. 

“You know each other?” she said, mildly surprised.

Neal and Peter were shaking hands like old friends. “We met last night,” Neal filled her in. 

“Well then, I’ll leave you both to it,” she said, depositing a tray of coffee and taking her leave.

Peter gestured for Neal to take a seat at the table and joined him. “So I guess you already knew who I was last night before we met?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Neal looked only slightly abashed. “I confess I did. I wanted to meet you before I met you, if you know what I mean. I find it makes business easier that way, when there’s a personal connection.”

Peter nodded, but still looked dubious. “I suppose I can give you points for creativity, and you sure did learn a lot about me that way. Do you feel it gave you an advantage?” Peter was slightly annoyed at having been played, but was willing to give an ambitious young man a break.

Neal had the grace to look uneasy. “That remains to be seen, I think, but when I learned you would be at that fundraiser, I really wanted to meet you off the clock, if you will. See what makes Peter Burke tick.”

“And what did you find?”

“Not what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?”

Neal smiled. “Boring, stuffed shirt, workaholic.”

Peter laughed. “My nieces would agree with you.”

“They’d be wrong. Look, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Peter spread his hands. “No offense taken. What brings you here? What can Sterling-McCann do for me?”

Neal removed a notebook computer from his bag and fired up a PowerPoint presentation, laying out a proposal. When he was done, he said, “Our goal, Peter, is to align Cogent Pharmaceuticals with a collection of hand-picked investors who will be able to help the company grow to the next level. It’s no secret you guys are on the cusp of a great new treatment with Endomil –“

“Well, actually, it is a secret,” Peter interrupted him abruptly. “Where did you hear about it? We haven’t even turned our findings over to the FDA yet…”

Neal blinked, his face coloring. “I’m sorry. Have I overstepped? Arthur McCann told me he’d talked to Jerry Rhinehart, told me to put a proposal together –“

Peter sighed. Arthur McCann and Jerry were members of the same country club. “My friend Jerry needs to learn more about discretion, I think. But tell me why I should consider this now, anyway. It’s not like we’re hurting.”

“But if the drug’s approved, you’ll need to ramp up production pretty quickly, line up your supply chain, marketing. A secondary offering now will provide an influx of capital that will allow you to lease facilities sooner rather than later, with less of a debt load in the long run.” 

“Perhaps,” Peter commented. “You have a printed proposal for me?”

Neal smiled, reached into his bag and removed a folder, which he held out. Peter’s fingertips accidentally brushed Neal’s knuckles as he reached for it, and they each felt the crack of a static shock. “Oh, I hope that doesn’t mean what I’ll find here is shocking?” Peter kidded.

“I always thought it was good luck,” Neal supplied with a smile. 

Peter opened the folder, put on his glasses, and skipped to the last pages where the terms and figures were to be found. “Looks interesting…I’ll consider it.”

“Excellent. Can I schedule a follow-up for next week?” 

Peter nodded and stood. “You can. Penny will take care of it.” He gestured for Neal to precede him to the door and walked him out, a hand on the young man’s shoulder, light, easy. 

Just outside the door, Neal turned and extended his hand. “Thanks for your time today, Peter. Again, if my actions caused any offense…”

Peter shook his hand. “No, I don’t think so, Neal.”

Neal looked relieved. 

“Though I’d say you were pretty far down in the count,” Peter said with a smile.

“How far?”

“Oh and two.”

Neal winced. “At least I didn’t go down looking.”

“That you did not.” 

Peter watched as Neal went to Penny’s desk to schedule a follow up appointment, and then closed his door, a slight smile on his face. He poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the window, staring out across the river again. He decided he quite liked Neal Caffrey; with his obvious intelligence and easy smile, there was something about him he found undeniably appealing. His sister always accused him of having a “type,” and Neal certainly filled the bill with his dark hair and ivory skin. But he quickly dismissed it. It had been a long time since Peter had been with anyone – man or woman – and if he and Neal’s company were going to enter into a deal out of this meeting, it would hardly be appropriate to pursue anything. 

But if the mere thought of bright blue eyes and even, white teeth gave him a springier step through the rest of the day, he wasn’t going to beat himself up about it.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

PETER JOGGED UP THE STAIRS TO NEAL'S, THE MUSIC BOX IN A DUFFEL SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER, and a brown paper bag in his hand. Neal answered almost immediately after his knock, and Peter hoisted the bag. “I brought some of those soft pretzels you like.”

“You mean the soft pretzels _you_ like?” Neal said with a smirk. He closed the door behind them and went to the fridge for a couple of beers as Peter headed for the table and removed the music box.

“Never thought I’d see that again,” Neal said quietly, his statement punctuated by a _tsst_ as he cracked open one of the beers. 

Peter set the box onto the table and accepted the beer Neal held out. They stood staring at the thing for an entire minute. Peter pulled out a chair and sat down. Neal joined him, his beer untouched between his feet. He sat stiffly, on the edge of his seat. 

Peter tried to ignore it. “I didn’t tell you anything for your own protection,” he began. He had to explain, he had to. “I don’t know what you’re gonna do. And neither do you.”

“I know my options.”

Peter sighed. “Revenge or justice, right? Neal, as long as I’m involved, it’s gonna be the latter.” How else could he make him understand?

“What if justice isn’t good enough?” It was a serious question, which surprised Peter.

“It has to be. It will be.”

“What did you find?” Neal was eager to move forward; Peter got that.

“There’s a piece of the box that’s missing, right here. At first, I thought it was one of the cherubs that had broken off, but if you look more closely, it hasn’t broken off. It’s a keyhole, the missing piece is a key.”

Neal reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny golden cherub, held it in front of him. 

“Which you have,” Peter said. _Of course he did._

Neal inserted the key into the box, but his eyes were on Peter’s. “No more secrets, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes on Neal’s were just as unwavering. “No more secrets.”

Neal turned the key and the remaining three cherubs turned in unison. Somewhere inside the box, Peter could hear a _snick_ as an ancient lock opened for the first time in over fifty years. He reached out a hand and so did Neal, and together they opened the lid.

“What is it?” Peter said as they surveyed the item inside the hidden compartment. 

“Looks like a second comb. Should we put it in? Listen to it?”

He looked at Neal like he was crazy. “Uh, hell yeah.” Peter watched as Neal removed the original comb with shaking hands, slotted the new one in and let it play.

“Not the prettiest tune,” Neal commented.

“What the hell does it mean?”

“Who says it means anything?” Neal said bitterly. He sat back in his chair and opened his own beer, took a swig and eyeballed it. “I need something stronger.” He rose and retrieved a bottle of single malt from a cabinet and poured himself two fingers.

Peter all but ignored him, listening to the box play its tune for a second and third time. It reminded him of something. Something he remembered reading in college in an Intro to Music Theory class he’d audited. As a math major, the measures and timing of musical composition was something he’d always found fascinating. 

“I was at least expecting a treasure map or something useful in there,” Neal groused as he took his seat again. 

“Shh,” Peter said, and listened to the thing for a fourth time. 

“It’s another dead end, Peter,” Neal said angrily, knocking the thing closed. 

“No, I don’t think so. I think it might be a code or something.” He explained how coded messages had been hidden within musical compositions since as far back as ancient Greece. “It’s usually music hidden in texts and art, but what if this one’s coded into the music itself?”

“A coded message? But what for?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But it’s something, right?”

“I suppose.” He took a large sip of whisky. “Why can’t it ever be easy?”

“Nothing worthwhile was ever easy.”

“You’re saying that to a con man,” Neal pointed out with a smirk. “We make our living off of shortcuts and cheats.”

Peter shrugged. He had a point. 

“I suppose we can have Moz take a look. If anyone can pull anything out of this, it’s him.”

Peter was reluctant to bring another person into this, but was forced to agree with Neal. “Should we call him?”

“He’s out of town. Incommunicado.”

Peter didn’t want to know what that meant. “When will he be back?”

“Two, three weeks.” Neal grabbed the bag of pretzels and tore a chunk off of one. He idly flicked off grains of salt with his thumbnail.

“Then I guess we wait,” Peter said, more disappointed than he thought he’d be. He drained his beer and set it on the table with a _thunk_.

“Want another?”

Peter indicated the whisky bottle. “I think I need something stronger.” 

Neal got up and retrieved another glass, and Peter watched him move – that easy stride, his hips swaying as he walked.

“What?” Neal said, noticing Peter’s scrutiny as he poured.

Peter could feel his face coloring. “Nothing.”

“No secrets, remember?” Neal said, handing him his drink. When he did, their fingers touched and Peter felt his throat go dry.

Peter shook his head and downed his drink in one gulp. The whisky burned going down, its warmth spreading instantly outwards once it hit his stomach.

“So our agreement lasts for what, ten hours?” Neal asked, truly disappointed.

 _Fine._ “El thinks you’re in love with me.” 

It was Neal’s turn to blush. “She does?” His tone was flat, neutral.

He immediately wanted to take the words back, didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Or if he was thinking. “Ha-ha. That El,” Peter began, trying to defuse the situation. As if either of them would believe it was a joke.

“She’s a pistol.” Neal said in an amused tone that Peter knew was anything but. He walked to the door and stood there with his hand on the knob, his shoulders hunched.

“You’re asking me to leave?”

“No. No, I’m leaving.”

Peter watched, open-mouthed, as Neal disappeared down the stairs, leaving the apartment door open in his wake. It wasn’t until he heard the front door open and close downstairs that Peter realized Neal wasn’t kidding, got to his feet and went after him.

He caught up to Neal, who appeared to be heading for the park. “Neal!” He paused but didn’t stop, forcing Peter to run. His chest burned from the exertion, and he silently damned that louse Kent yet again for the poison that had temporarily stolen his vitality. “You trying to give me a heart attack?” he called, and Neal stopped, turned to look at him with flashing eyes.

Peter was panting when he reached Neal. He stood with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. The lag in the conversation didn’t seem to lessen Neal’s apparent anger.

“Why would you say that to me?” 

“Wh- I don’t know.”

“It’s not funny, Peter. It’s not something to be joked about.”

“I know.”

“You’re married. I would never –“ He stopped himself from talking and stalked away.

Peter strode after him, took him by the elbow, turned him. He was still angry, but there were tears in Neal’s eyes. “Please wait. We have to talk about this.”

Neal walked away again and Peter trotted to catch up. _So they’d be doing this as a walk-and-talk. Fine._ “There’s nothing to talk about,” Neal said to him when he realized Peter was following him.

“You honestly don’t believe that, do you?”

“I will amend my statement, then. There’s nothing I _want_ to talk about.”

“Neal, it’s already out there.”

“And who put it out there? I don’t have to play along, Peter. I can’t believe you would do this.”

“Do what?”

“Mock me.”

That statement and the pain in Neal’s voice stopped Peter cold. “I would never do that.”

Neal made a dismissive gesture and increased his pace. 

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the hell was I thinking?_ Peter set off after Neal again. 

They entered the park and walked for several minutes, Peter some five paces behind Neal. He didn’t know what he could say to make it up, to make it right, but he didn’t want to leave this unresolved. Not tonight, not after their breakthrough with the music box. 

“Christ, Neal, can you at least give me a chance to catch up?”

“No.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you. I didn’t know you really felt that way.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’d bring it up if that was the case.”

“OK, that was a lie.”

“Everything’s a lie with you lately.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Do want me to make a list?”

 _Grrr!_ “If it makes you stop walking.”

Neal only quickened his pace, which was easy since they were on a slight downward incline. 

Neal said something Peter couldn’t hear. “What?”

“I said I can’t believe I made it so obvious. Some con man I am.”

“Well, El is kind of scary-intuitive. Nothing gets by her. She could be a CIA interrogator.”

Neal actually laughed, but kept going. 

“Please, please, please let me explain.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“And I’d prefer it if we could just forget it happened, but that’s not an option.”

A slight beeping noise punctuated the night’s quiet and Neal slowed his pace, stopped. Relieved, Peter strode over to him and stood in front of him. “Thank you. Now, can we just talk about this?”

“I’m at the edge of my radius,” Neal said and started to walk back the way they’d come.  
Peter acted fast and grabbed his arm. “Neal, please.”

“Please what? There’s nothing more to say.”

“You have feelings for me.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Peter knew he wouldn’t lie, but it didn’t mean he’d admit it.

“What if I had feelings for you too?” 

“Don’t even go there, Peter.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not. There are about a hundred reasons why not. And no good reason why.”

“There’s one reason why. Because you love me.”

Neal’s lower lip trembled and he closed his eyes. “That will never be enough. Don’t follow me.” He walked briskly back the way he’d come, leaving Peter standing on the path.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**MAY, 2009**

PETER REVIEWED NEAL'S PROPOSAL THE FOLLOWING MORNING AND LIKED WHAT HE SAW. Jerry did too, so when Peter tried to schedule a follow up conversation, Jerry suggested a dinner meeting with Neal instead.

They met at some famous TV chef’s steakhouse in the Meat Packing District that Jerry had invested in. Jerry insisted they get the business out of the way first, and so hashed out a few issues over a round of sparkling waters, raised a few more and agreed to a follow up meeting over lunch in two days to finalize the terms between the two companies. 

Jerry excused himself to use the restroom and Peter and Neal were left in the bar. Neal offered to buy Peter a celebratory bourbon, and Peter accepted.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy, I’d have booked a table at Olive Garden,” Neal joked. 

Peter took a swig at his drink and gave him a shrewd look. “Oh, we haven’t settled on your percentage yet. Jerry drives a hard bargain. You haven’t quite landed the big fish, my friend.”

“Friend?” Neal said, eyebrows raised and a smile playing around the corner of his mouth.

“An expression,” Peter answered, but he winked to let Neal know he was open to it. 

Neal had secured the chef’s table for the evening, and so they were treated to an exquisite tasting menu with corresponding wine pairings that Neal had chosen personally. 

“That may have been the best meal of my life,” Jerry said, finishing off the last of his wine. “Arthur is paying you too well, Neal.”

Neal grinned and called their waiter over to order brandies. “Oh, this is going on the expense account. If it were me paying, we’d have gone for hotdogs at Gray’s Papaya.”

Peter laughed. “I like a man with his head screwed on straight,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

If he had been pressed, Peter would have to admit he was feeling a bit tipsy. He rarely drank, and when he did, it was a couple of Heislers at a ballgame. Neal smiled at him, and Peter noticed how blue the younger man’s eyes were, and how his tongue flicked out just before he took a sip of his drink. His bottom lip glistened, and Peter found himself staring at it too intently as Neal spoke. Yep, he’d had too much to drink. 

“I should have some coffee, maybe, instead of a brandy,” he said, smiling down into his glass.

Neal reached out and laid his hand over Peter’s where it cradled the snifter, and he took the glass from him. Their eyes met for a second, and something inside Peter went zing. “I’ll get you a coffee, then,” Neal said, raising the glass to his own lips and drinking from it. He blinked and the moment was gone. Neal called the waiter over and asked for a dessert menu.

The three of them lingered over coffees, discussing everything from local politics to federal compliance regulations to the Yanks’ chances for the rest of the season, until eventually it was clear the restaurant was about to close around them. Neal excused himself to arrange for taxis for them all with the maitre d, leaving Peter and Jerry alone for the moment. 

“Great job bringing this kid on board, Peter. He knows our business so well.”

“He’s certainly done his homework,” Peter marveled.

“You’ll deal with him on the terms, then?”

“What? And deny you your solitary pleasure? I know how you like the thrill of a good negotiation.”

Jerry waved his hand. “Maybe I’ll poke my head in on Friday when you meet again, give him a hard time. The kid’s smart, I’ll say that.”

Peter nodded.

“Think I should put in a good word with Arthur McCann for him?”

“He hasn’t proven himself yet – make him work for it.”

Jerry grinned. “I think I’m rubbing off on you, Burke.”

“I think it’s I who have rubbed off on you, Rhinehart.” Peter smiled at his own drunken difficulty in forming coherent sentences. 

“Smartass.”

“Jackass,” Peter answered with a fond smirk for his friend.

Neal arrived then to let them know their cars had arrived. Neal got Peter’s door for him, and they stood with it between them, saying their good nights.

“Good business, good night,” Peter commented.

“I hope so,” Neal said, holding out a hand. They shook, and Neal’s hand was warm, soft, dry. Peter held on maybe a beat longer than was strictly necessary, but Neal didn’t seem to notice. He fixed Peter with a warm smile, closed the door for him and gave a short wave as the cab pulled away. Peter had a view of him in the cab’s side mirror for a couple of seconds as they drove off; he didn’t stop waving until Peter was out of sight, and Peter couldn’t resist turning around in his seat to watch him for just a few seconds longer. 

Yep, mighty drunk. 

\----

“Gentlemen, it will be a pleasure doing business with you,” Neal said, shaking first Jerry's and then Peter’s hands as they signed the contracts on their business arrangement two weeks later. It had taken as long for the “lawyering,” as Jerry had put it, but all terms had been agreed and the two firms were on their way to what was hoped would be a profitable partnership.

“Looking forward to it,” Jerry answered with a smile. He glanced at Peter, who was shaking Neal’s hand, a warm expression on his face. Jerry smiled his mischievous smile – the one that Peter knew meant he was up to no good. “But listen, I won’t be able to make it to our celebratory dinner this evening. A prior commitment I forgot about until just now.” Peter gave him a look and he grinned.

“That’s too bad, because I made reservations at Daniel,” Neal said, disappointed.

Jerry shrugged. “My deepest apologies. But don’t let me ruin the fun – why don’t you two make a night of it.” 

He headed for the door, Peter following. “You sure I can’t persuade you to join us, _Jerr_?” he asked, opening the door. 

“No, you have fun,” Jerry said, then lowered his voice so that only Peter could hear. “There’s no law against mixing business with pleasure.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Peter sighed. Jerry knew he was bisexual, which only meant that he tried to fix Peter up with nearly everyone who crossed his path. “He’s practically a kid,” Peter hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Neal stood in the corner, checking his emails on his Blackberry. 

“He’s a big boy, and besides, he’s been making eyes at you for weeks. I know the look.” He pressed his Black American Express card into Peter’s hand and said loudly, “The night’s on me – you two make the most of it.” He turned and left.

Neal looked up, an expectant expression on his face. “Couldn’t persuade him to change his mind?”

“Nothing can change Jerry's mind once it’s set,” Peter replied, his tone rueful. 

“His loss, then,” Neal said. “Shall we start with drinks?

\----

“Well, I’d say you haven’t truly lived until you’ve dined standing up in a pizza joint in New York,” Neal said with a grin. He had just shaken about a ton of red pepper flakes onto his plain slice and was about to reach for the garlic powder when he seemed to think better of it. 

Peter chuckled. Their evening began at an open-air bistro around the corner from the office where they settled in with drinks at the corner of the bar. One drink turned into three, and they were so lost in conversation that they completely missed their dinner reservation. The night was warm and breezy, so they took a walk around the neighborhood, finally lured into the pizza place by the enticing aroma of garlic and tomato and charred crust. 

“Well, then, I guess I’ve lived enough for two lifetimes,” Peter said with a laugh. “I come here at least twice a week.”

“Really?” Neal asked, taking a large bite from his slice. 

“I live just around the corner.”

“Huh, I had you pegged for a Park Avenue address.”

Peter snorted. “Then you don’t know me very well.”

Neal just looked at him, his blue eyes searching his face, his expression thoughtful.

“What?” Peter asked, self-conscious.

“Nothing. You have sauce on your lip.” Neal reached out with a napkin, swiped it against the corner of Peter’s mouth.

“Thanks,” Peter said, his mouth suddenly dry. “I, uh, I’m going to get a soda – want one?” 

“A water would be great.”

Peter wandered to the refrigerated case along one wall and chose their drinks, his mind racing. What had just happened? Neal had touched him – wiped his mouth for him. Peter rubbed absently at the spot with a knuckle, as if touching it would somehow nullify the thoughts and feelings that were racing through his mind. Did that touch mean Neal was attracted to him? No – he was just being considerate, surely. Or not. Casual acquaintances didn’t just touch each other randomly – not like that, not unless there was something behind it, some attraction. 

Damn it, he thought, why did these things always happen when he had a buzz on and couldn’t think clearly?

When they’d finished their pizza, they continued their walk around the neighborhood, chatting about nothing in particular. “So tell me about Neal Caffrey,” Peter said during a lull in conversation. “You know all about me.”

“Only what I could glean from LinkedIn and the Wall Street Journal,” Neal said, mock-defensively. “But there’s not much to tell. Raised by a single mom. Came to New York about twelve years ago to make my fortune, and I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world when I got my first job with Vincent Adler.”

“Ohhhh!” Peter exclaimed. The tale of the Wall Street guru who had run the biggest Ponzi scheme until Bernie Madoff was a well-known cautionary tale. “What happened?”

“I wish I could say I saw it all coming, but then I’d be lying. I invested everything I made back into the company and when it all came tumbling down, I was broke.”

“I’m sorry.”

Neal was philosophical. “It made me the man I am today,” he said. “I picked myself up, did odd jobs until I could get an internship on the Street and wound up at Sterling-McCann. The rest you know, or can guess at, I suppose. And thanks to you and this deal, I’m well on my way to partner.”

“Well, don’t thank me,” Peter said, stopping outside a gelato shop and turning to Neal. “Sounds like you did it all yourself. You’re smart. I like smart.”

Neal was looking at him again with that strange searching expression on his face. Peter stared down into his eyes, mesmerized by their color. Neal took Peter by the wrist. “I like you,” he said, his voice lowering, lips parted, intention no longer in doubt.

Peter couldn’t resist, leaning down and taking Neal’s lower lip between his own. As Neal opened his mouth to him, he placed his other hand around the back of Peter’s neck, his thumb caressing the short hairs there. The sensation tickled, awakened something in Peter and he moaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss. Neal pressed up against him and Peter put his hand around his waist. He realized he was tingling, his whole face seemed to be tingling, his lips, tongue, chin, but then he realized it was the red pepper Neal had eaten and he smiled. 

“Your kisses burn,” he said softly, opening his eyes.

“That’s a new one,” Neal said, straining forward, trying to continue the kiss.

Peter stepped back, breaking their embrace. “I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s inappropriate. We’ll be working together.”

Neal dropped his hand. “Of course, you’re right. We should keep things professional.”

“Yes.” 

“Even though every fiber of my being wants to be with you right now.”

“Don’t make this harder.”

“There are a lot of things I’d like to make harder,” Neal teased.

“Oh, the lame double entendres are beneath you Neal,” Peter chuckled.

“They’re really, really not.” he replied.

“Behave,” Peter chided, “and I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

Neal smiled that mysterious smile again. “As much as I would like that, I’m going to pretend I need to be going now. You’re right, we need to keep this on a professional level, and unless I leave now – well, I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to do that.”

Peter nodded, disappointed and yet completely flattered to know that Neal wanted him as much as he wanted Neal. “I’ll see you at our meeting next Tuesday, then,” Peter said, holding a hand out.

Neal shook it briefly, brusquely, then turned and walked away. Peter watched him go, saw how he paused at the corner before turning down Sixth Ave, looked for Peter and waved before heading up the street. “Damn it,” Peter whispered, shaking his head, but he wasn’t sure if he was more disappointed in himself that he’d acted unprofessionally, or that he hadn’t just taken the plunge and invited Neal back to his place. He turned and headed home, his half-hard dick clearly of the latter opinion.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

PETER DIDN’T SLEEP MUCH THE NIGHT AFTER THE FIGHT WITH NEAL, and when El asked him what was wrong, he didn’t feel much like hashing it out, so he just said he was tired. He hated keeping anything from her, and knew he’d discuss it with her soon, but he felt like he wanted to sort things out for himself first.

Neal’s emotions had been so raw, it hurt Peter to realize he’d caused that anguish. He could pretend he was drunk at the time, but he knew he wasn’t and that was a copout anyway. He wished he could see a way to fix it, to apologize, to take it back. 

As he drove to the office the next morning, he wished he knew how he felt about it. Now that it was out there, he found himself thinking about it seriously. He imagined his life with a third person in it – what might that look like? What would the logistics be? Then he imagined actually _being_ with Neal, kissing him, touching him, and he almost back-ended the bakery truck in front of him. He hadn’t thought about being with a man in years, hadn’t been with one for even longer, and now that he was allowing himself to consider it, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. 

He had to get it out of his mind. 

Even if he and Neal could find a way to clear the air, a relationship was untenable. Neal was a CI and still technically a prisoner, and Peter was his handler. 

That settled it.

Neal was thankfully not yet in the office when Peter finally made it to the 21st floor. As he mounted the stairs to his office, he glimpsed his boss approaching out of the corner of his eye.

“Good morning, Peter,” Hughes called to him. 

“Sir,” Peter greeted. For some reason, the stern demeanor of his boss banished all inappropriate thoughts from this mind, and he was grateful.

“I want you to meet someone.” Hughes turned and gestured for the man who stood behind him to step forward. 

“Jerry Rhinehart?” Peter said, shocked to see his old B-school friend here at the FBI.

“Burke, you son of a bitch!” Jerry said, stepping forward and pulling Peter into a bear hug. “How long’s it been?”

“Too long.” Peter was beaming – he had always liked Jerry and had regretted that they had never stayed in touch. “What brings you here?”

At that, his old friend’s still-boyish face fell and he rubbed at the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“Your new case, Peter,” Hughes said. “Shall we go into the conference room?”

\----

Jerry's case was a serious one, involving stock fraud and suspected industrial espionage. His company, a biotech firm on the cusp of FDA approvals for an important HIV medication, was seeing strange fluctuations in the buying and selling of its stock – never enough to alert the SEC, but enough to raise the suspicions of Jerry, the company’s CEO. 

Peter had to take the case – it sounded too interesting, plus it was for a friend – and after sending Jerry on his way with promises to meet for dinner soon, he assembled the team in the conference room. 

“It’s kind of thin, Boss,” Diana commented once he’d laid it out for them.

“I know, which is why we need to do a little digging. If Jerry thinks there’s something wrong with these transactions, then I believe him. Let’s find the connection.”

“We should look for an inside man,” Neal said. Everyone looked at him; he hadn’t said much all morning. “Look at the patterns in the trades. Someone’s feeding information to the investor to be making these transactions – they’re just before or after major company announcements. We should look at employee records, recent hires, consultants.”

“You think so?” Peter asked.

“It’s how I’d do it.”

“OK, Jones – you’re on the personnel angle. Let’s find something. Jerry's a good guy, and Cogent Pharmaceuticals is trying to save people’s lives. Maybe we can make a difference here.”

The meeting broke up and Peter tried to catch Neal’s eye before he left, but too many people got in the way.

\----

“Ethan Reynolds,” Jones pronounced, displaying a mug shot on screen in the conference room late in the day. “AKA Andrew Czerny. Supposed to be working for a boutique investment firm called Stratford, Thomson, Evans, Allen and Lang.”

“Their initials spell _steal_ ,” Neal pointed out. Everyone in the room groaned loudly.

“Cute,” Jones replied. “Anyway, Cogent recently contracted with them to drum up investors for an expansion into Asia. The guy’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm.”

“And he’s certainly come up a bit in the world since we worked a wire con back in ’99,” Neal murmured.

Peter looked at him. “Wire con?”

“Statute of limitations,” Neal pointed out, his eyes shifty. 

“You know the guy?”

“Haven’t seen him since 2000, maybe? Before I came to New York. He fell in with a pretty serious crowd. Not my scene.”

“Think he’d be interested in seeing an old partner?”

“Maybe. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could work an angle.”

“You didn’t screw his girlfriend or anything?” Peter kidded. “Don’t want any nasty surprises if I send you in.”

Neal rolled his eyes and gave Peter that _yes, Dad_ expression that drove him nuts. “We ended on good terms. Really.”

“All right – reach out. See if we’ve got an in there. In the meantime, let’s keep digging into the history of…” Peter shook his head at the crooks’ audacity. 

“Say it,” Diana prompted, a twinkle in her eye.

“STEAL.“ Peter winced. “I want to know who’s behind the company. Someone’s backing them, let’s find out.”

\----

 _”Plain water in a rocks glass, with a twist,”_ Neal ordered from the bartender. They were set up in a well-known Wall Street watering hole Reynolds was known to frequent. Peter nodded approvingly – Neal would be keeping a clear head. 

_”There’s a whole lot of douche here,”_ Neal muttered over his communicator.

 _”He’s not kidding,”_ came Diana’s voice. She was shadowing Neal just in case. _”All the Masters of the Universe are here. Oh, hey, there’s our boy.”_

Out in the van, Peter pressed his headphones closer against his head to pick up any ambient noise. He guessed Neal was moving through the crowd, if the whispered “excuse mes” and “oh, hellos” from young women were any indication.

After several minutes, Neal made his move. _“Reynolds? Is that… can it be you? Holy shit!”_

 _“Caffrey? Neal Caffrey? I can’t believe it!”_

There was much rustling and the sound of flesh-on-flesh as the two embraced and shook hands. 

_”What brings you back to town, Ethan? I heard you were up in Chi-town or something?”_

_“I was. Been in Miami the last five years. I heard you were in the joint. What the hell happened, man?”_

_“Yeah, well… yeah. It was a girl.”_

_“I always said your Achilles heel was in your heart.”_

_“And you weren’t wrong,”_ Neal answered ruefully. _”Listen, things are a little tight. There was this music box thing that didn’t work out for me. Got anything going on?”_

_“For you? Always, Neal. We were like brothers once upon a time. I’ve actually got something you’ll be perfect for. I need someone who can think on his feet, schmooze the marks. Meet me at this address tomorrow at 1:00.”_

_“Wow, Ethan. Man, that’s…thank you.”_ Peter marveled at the emotion Neal put into the words. He glanced over at Jones, who was also making an impressed face.

_”Forget it. Let me get you a fresh drink.”_

\----

The following afternoon, Neal met Reynolds in newly leased office space in Midtown. Because of the nature of the meeting, he was alone, which never sat well with Peter. He hated it anytime one of his people went undercover, but with Neal so many things tended to go wrong, he was always a nervous wreck.

Peter perked up as Neal arrived, and he could hear a low droning of many voices talking at once inside whatever space he was in. 

_”What’s the job?”_ Neal asked.

_”Boiler room. Ever done one?”_

_“Once or twice. Good money if you can get the right lists.”_

_“We’ve got the right lists. Rich, liberal Yuppies can’t wait to buy what we’re selling. If we call it socially responsible investing, they eat it up like potato chips. We sell ‘em shit stocks on companies we tell them make green technology and they can’t resist.”_

_“Green technology?”_

_“I don’t know. Hemp and shit. This is a sweet setup, and it’s making a ton of cash, but I can’t manage it all on my own. That’s where you come in.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’ve got this other gig – bigger score, but I have an investor, and he’s getting antsy. I need to focus on that, so if you can run this operation for me, you’d be doing me a solid.”_

_“Sure thing. What’s my cut?”_

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**AUGUST, 2009**

NEAL SAT IN THE BACK OF THE TOWN CAR, LEG BOPPING UP AND DOWN AS THEY pulled up to a stately brownstone in Gramercy Park. “You’re nervous,” Peter observed.

“I am. Sorry, I should be more professional. I’m not exactly instilling confidence for you, my client. It’s just that this guy…might be the biggest investor we’ll see. He represents a consortium of private Japanese investors that make up the firm’s third largest client.”

“Stop worrying, we’ll ace it like we did all the others.” 

The Peter and Neal Show, as Penny had started calling it, had been on the road now for three weeks, convincing investor after investor to take a chance on Cogent and the growth the company was poised to enjoy. Neal and Peter had their presentation down to a science, but clearly this particular meeting had Neal a bit out of sorts.

In the weeks since their kiss, Neal had had the good grace not to mention it, and Peter was content to let it lie. If there was still an attraction once their business was concluded, he’d promised himself he’d consider it if Neal was open to something, but not yet. He could wait it out if Neal could.

“It’s just that, well, he’s a bit eccentric,” Neal went on. “You should be prepared to roll with it.”

“Eccentric. Big investor. Got it. Anything else?” Peter said. 

“How well-versed are you in the Kennedy assassination?”

\----

Peter and Neal were ushered to the back of the house by the housekeeper, a Mrs. Yamamoto, where an old solarium had been converted into a traditional _karesansui_ rock garden. The room was dominated by a bed of sand, contained within a frame of painted wood, with a path of flat, smooth stones meandering through the sand from one corner to its opposite, bisecting the space and creating a path. In one half of the garden, several large rocks were arranged that evoked a group of islands; in the other, the rocks were piled atop one another. Each grouping was covered in green moss, and bedecked by several small shrubberies. Mrs. Yamamoto ran her fingers through a set of chimes that hung near the entryway and left them alone.

“Suits,” a voice greeted them from behind. 

They turned and in the rear corner of the room, seated atop a table in the lotus position was a bald, bespectacled man, dressed in a dark grey kimono. He unfurled his legs and got off the table, fitted the traditional _zori_ onto his feet and waited patiently for them to approach. Peter thought he looked like an owl.

“Ah, introductions are in order,” Neal said. “Mr. Peter Burke, the CFO of Cogent Pharmaceuticals, may I present Mr. Dante Haversham.”

Peter bowed slightly and extended a hand, which Haversham gave a cursory shake. He gestured for them to have a seat, and then rang a small gong that sat near the wall. Within minutes, Mrs. Yamamoto brought in tea for them all, served it and then left.

“Gentlemen,” Haversham began, “I have read your prospectus and the principals look good. I just have some questions for Mr. Burke.”

“Please, call me Peter,” Peter said, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the man.

“I’m curious about your product development plans, Mr. Burke,” Haversham continued. “Help me to understand how Cogent Pharmaceuticals isn’t a one-hit wonder. What are you doing to diversify your product range?”

Peter was well-prepared for this question, and so took Haversham through the meat of his usual presentation from memory, quoting statistics and market projections, making his case for an investment. Throughout, Haversham asked pointed, yet not unexpected questions, listening attentively. Peter and Neal’s preparation for the meeting paid off, and by the end, Haversham was sitting forward in his seat, nodding his understanding and agreeing with everything Peter had to say.

“So, Mr. Haversham, any additional questions for us?” Neal asked. 

“I think I’ve heard everything I need to, but you’ve undersold me, Mr. Caffrey. I think I can sell an initial investment to my backers that’s twice what you’ve proposed. Have the contracts drawn up and sent to my office uptown.” He held out his hand to Peter, who thanked him for his time as they shook. 

\----

As Peter walked out with Neal to the Town Car, he found himself nearly unable to contain his excitement. To have convinced this man to invest in his company was one thing, but the capital this one investment would raise would mean the company could increase production on a global scale and ensure the company’s growth for the foreseeable future.

He chanced a glance down at Neal as they reached the car. Neal’s outward expression was neutral as he looked pointedly back at the townhouse. Peter glanced back and thought he saw the curtains move. Picking up on Neal’s vibe, he opened the car door for Neal, and waited until the car had pulled away before giving voice to his enthusiasm.

“Did what I think happen just happen?” he said to Neal. He rubbed his palms on his pants, because he felt the need to be moving at that moment. 

“If what you think happened is we just closed about a quarter of a billion dollar investment, then I think you think correctly.” Neal’s face quirked at the awkward turn of phrase, and looked at Peter apologetically, which made Peter laugh. “Or something. I’m usually more coherent.” 

“Say it again.”

“A quarter billion dollars.”

“It’s almost absurd, isn’t it?”

“It just may be.” 

“I don’t think it would have happened if it weren’t for you, Neal. This may be one of the best days of my life!”

Neal put his hand over Peter’s where it gripped his own thigh, squeezed gently. “I had nothing to do with it, Peter. You were brilliant back there.”

Peter looked at where Neal gripped his hand, and his heart may have skipped a beat. His hand was soft on his, warm, and if Peter were prone to hyperbole, he’d have said the touch was electric. He swallowed, looked at Neal.

Neal was leaning back in the plush leather seat of the car, blue eyes open wide, and as he looked at him, Peter saw the tip of his tongue dart out and lick his parted lips. Peter was suddenly seized with a desire to taste those lips again that was so strong he nearly couldn’t breathe. He turned his hand over, grabbed Neal’s by the wrist and pulled him closer. 

He closed his eyes as Neal’s mouth found his, their first kiss almost chaste as they felt each other out. But as Neal leaned back further across the seat, forcing Peter to follow him, Peter felt the desire he’d kept so brutally in check for the last several weeks finally burst out of him. He snaked a hand into Neal’s hair, fisted it, pulled him closer, his mouth pressing against Neal’s so hard their teeth clicked together. Neal opened his mouth to gasp and Peter plunged his tongue in, tasting Neal’s breath and swallowing it down. He swiveled his hips to increase the contact between their bodies, but Neal put a hand on his lips that called a halt to the proceedings.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, not feeling sorry at all, but wondering if he’d gone too far.

“No, no, don’t be,” Neal gasped, looking up at him through his lashes, “but we’re almost back to the office.”

Peter pulled back slightly and looked out of the car’s windows. So they were. “Oh,” he said, disappointed. He looked down at Neal, took in his messed hair, moist, kiss-swollen lips, the blue of his irises nearly obliterated by pupils dilated with desire and saw but one thing: sex on a plate. He didn’t know if he’d regret it, but all Peter could think about was not letting it get away from him this time. “Working lunch at my place?” he offered.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Neal said, reaching up and pulling Peter back on top of him.

\----

The door to his apartment rattled as it hit the wall with a bang, bouncing back and getting Peter in the shoulder. He hardly noticed; he was busy trying to undo Neal’s belt as the younger man was urgently humping against Peter’s thigh. Something had to give. The door shut with a bang and Peter gently pushed Neal up against it, and pressed himself against Neal, not wanting to break contact with him for even a second. 

Now that they were unencumbered by the need to see where they were going, Peter threw off his own jacket and redoubled his efforts to remove Neal’s belt for him. He chanced a look down, fumbling with the damn thing. Neal’s head lolled back against the door; he was panting, watching Peter’s efforts.

Peter bent his head closer. “I’ve never been good with the undressing.”

“Here,” Neal said, and had the thing open in two seconds. Peter ran his hands down and palmed Neal’s cock through his pants. Neal gasped, threw his head back and banged it against the door. “Ow!”

“You ok?”

“Never mind.” 

He took Peter’s face in both his hands and kissed him again. Peter had always loved the experience of kissing a man. Sure kissing a woman had its joys – they were softer, gentler, and the lack of a beard made for a more pleasant experience overall – but with a man, there was no need to be gentle or hold back. With a man, there was more push and pull, the challenge of moving along with someone who was as strong or stronger than you, competition – and it turned Peter on all the more. 

With Neal it was no different. Neal gave as good as he got from Peter, widening his stance to control Peter at some points, yielding to Peter’s guidance at others. Peter could feel the taut, hard muscles of Neal’s back moving and bunching beneath his hands. He longed to see him naked. He pulled away from their kiss and Neal made a disappointed moan, but Peter shook his head.

“Have to see you, your skin,” he said hoarsely, as he pushed Neal’s suit jacket from his shoulders. Neal seemed to understand, and tugged at his tie to loosen it, pulled it up and over his head. He started to unbutton his shirt one-handed, but Peter covered his hands with his own. “Let me?” Neal nodded.

Peter opened the buttons with shaking hands, from top to bottom, each button revealing more and more tantalizing glimpses of creamy skin. When he’d gotten to the last one, Peter pushed it off his shoulders and then just stood there, staring at him. 

“What?” Neal asked. He seemed uncertain.

Without a word, Peter ran his fingertips down the hard muscles of Neal’s abdomen, fascinated by the feel of each individual muscle under his touch. Neal gasped, arched away from Peter’s touch. Peter began kissing Neal’s now-exposed throat. He could feel Neal swallow beneath his lips, and it made him smile. He made his way down and across his collarbone, planting kisses as he went, until he reached Neal’s chest. He took one rosy nipple into his mouth and sucked it, raising it to a nub. Neal gave a soft moan of pleasure.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Neal said, his voice husky with desire. 

Peter smiled, looked into Neal’s eyes, and thought he’d rarely seen a more beautiful thing than this vital, vibrant man who had come into his life and managed to awaken something he had long ago fooled himself into thinking he didn’t have the time for. And he wanted, he _needed_ to show him what it meant.

Without breaking eye contact, Peter sank to his knees and kissed a line along the hard length of Neal’s cock where it lay along his thigh. He undid Neal’s slacks and slid them down, again mouthing the clothed dick through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. Neal threw his head back against the door and grabbed onto the doorknob as Peter mouthed the head of his cock through his underwear. “Jesus!” Neal gasped. 

Peter tugged Neal’s underwear down, his dick bobbing slightly as it strained upward towards Neal’s belly. Peter took the head of it into his mouth then and sucked, hard. Neal bucked his hips in response, but Peter didn’t want things moving too quickly, so he let it go with a faint _pop_ and lowered his head a bit, sucking and licking his way up the shaft from the base, pressing it against Neal’s belly, then back, pausing to suck on Neal’s balls. He dragged his bottom teeth along the sensitive skin on his way back up, causing Neal to yelp, but Peter didn’t let up as he went, sucking, kissing, licking. 

Neal, Peter noticed, was quaking slightly at the knees, so Peter put his hands on his hips to steady him. He then took Neal’s dick into his mouth again, only this time he pulled as much of the considerable length in as he could, bobbing his head up and down, letting it hit him in the back of his throat, a little bit further and a little bit deeper with each downward movement. 

“Oh God, Peter, I -I’m gonna come!” Neal moaned, and the desperate, almost whiny edge to his voice spurred something inside Peter. He moved his hands from Neal’s hips to his ass cheeks and pulled him in, encouraging him to fuck his mouth. Neal seemed hesitant at first, but finally gave in and began to pump against Peter, who struggled to accommodate, tears forming as he tried not to gag, but he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t if he tried. 

Suddenly, Neal stopped, holding his breath as Peter tasted the first bitter gush of cum in the back of his throat. Neal pulled away, as if the sensations were too much, but Peter wouldn’t release him, instead increasing the suction on the head of his dick. Neal bent forward, an arm thrown around Peter’s head, the other bracing himself on the door. Peter didn’t know if he was hugging him or trying to get him to stop, but he also didn’t care. He kept his mouth on Neal until he’d milked him dry.

When Peter finally let him go, Neal slid bonelessly down the door. Peter caught him, eased him to the floor and hovered over him, propped up on his elbow. He kissed Neal, let him taste himself, and could feel him trembling still beneath him. 

“You OK?” Peter asked. 

“I don’t-” was all Neal could say. His voice was low, almost a whisper; he was clearly overwhelmed, and it at once endeared him to Peter, making him feel simultaneously amused and protective. He began to pet Neal, easing back the hair that now hung in sweaty waves across his brow, kissing him gently on his forehead, his eyes, his ear.

Several minutes later, Neal seemed to recover his energy, and began to kiss him back. After a while, he pulled away and took in their surroundings. “Are we really going to stay here in your front hall?” he asked.

“Not the most romantic, spot,” Peter admitted. 

“And you’ve still got your clothes on,” Neal pointed out. He grabbed Peter’s cock through his pants. “And I need to take care of this,” he said playfully. 

Peter was suddenly self-conscious. “Well, don’t feel you have to.”

Neal looked at him like he was insane and scrambled to his feet. He nearly tripped over his own pants, and kicked them aside with a laugh. He pulled Peter to his feet, took both his hands in his and said, “Now, which way to the bedroom?”

Peter pointed and allowed Neal to lead him by the hand. He tugged at his own tie as they walked, admiring the twin globes of Neal’s ass as he walked in front of him. He vaguely wondered what the skin there felt like to kiss – smooth like an apple, or fuzzy like a peach? He was almost giddy and realized with an odd detachment that this time he wasn’t drunk, and this was really happening. And decided for once in his damn life that he wouldn’t overthink this, and he wouldn’t let his rational, pragmatic side tell him what to do – for once, he was going to just go for it. 

Because Neal was worth it.

His reverie was interrupted as Neal stopped just short of the bed, turning to face him. He reached up and began to unbutton Peter’s shirt. “You are entirely too clothed,” he pointed out, and made short work of removing Peter’s shirt and cufflinks, followed by Peter’s pants. He stepped up to Peter and put his arms around his back, leaning his head up to kiss him for a few minutes. Peter kissed him back, plunging his tongue into Neal’s waiting mouth as Neal slid his hands down Peter’s lower back, into the waistband of his boxers pushed his underwear down, his warm hands taking a squeeze, blunt fingernails digging in slightly, pulling Peter’s hips forward. Peter moaned, but Neal soon gave it up, crouching down to slide the underwear off completely, and getting on his knees. 

Peter watched him as he took hold of Peter’s cock, his eyes widening as he surveyed its girth and heft. He licked his lips and took the head into his mouth, humming as he sucked Peter, his hands working over the length of him, always moving, squeezing, prodding. Peter could feel his own toes curling.

But then Neal stopped and stood, and Peter made a disappointed sound. Neal grinned and took hold of Peter again. “This,” he said, stroking him slowly, “I need this inside me.” He moved toward the bed, his arm extending, hand sliding down Peter’s cock until he dropped it, and got on the bed, reclining against the pillows, legs spread suggestively.

Peter went and sat on the bed beside him, leaning forward to kiss him. He ran his hand down his side and along his ass (yep – smooth like an apple) and worked it around and between Neal’s legs, pressing at his tight little hole. Neal moaned and spread his legs farther. Peter reached into the drawer of his nightstand for a small bottle of lube he kept there. Neal’s eyes widened and he smiled up at Peter, easing forward a bit closer to Peter. Peter noticed that Neal’s dick was half-hard again as he squirted some lube into his palm with an indelicate squelching sound. 

He worked the lube around Neal’s hole and pressed against the entrance with his middle finger, working it in up to the first knuckle, taking his time, eventually working the entire finger in, then started to add his index finger as well. 

“Come on,” Neal gasped.

“Patience,” Peter admonished and Neal bit his lip. Peter leaned forward to kiss him again, continuing to work him open.

“I’m ready. God, fuck me, Peter, please!” Neal said, spreading his thighs wide and pushing himself down onto Peter’s hand, and finally Peter could no longer resist. Grabbing a condom from the drawer, he tore open the foil packet with his teeth and rolled it onto his stiff cock with trembling fingers. It had been such a long time since he’d been with anyone, he thought as he smoothed more lube over the condom, he hoped he could last.

He got on his knees on the bed between Neal’s legs. Neal spread his thighs wide, his knees practically at his ears. “Wow, you’re bendy,” Peter observed.

“Yoga.”

Peter put his hands on Neal’s hips and lined the head of his cock against Neal’s asshole and gently pushed in. There was resistance at first – so hot and tight, that Peter feared he was hurting Neal. But Neal pushed onto Peter’s cock ever so slightly, encouraging him to continue. He pushed in a bit more, then more, Neal gasping as he took in every inch of Peter, opening up to him finally, and he found himself balls-deep inside the younger man. He began to slide out, slowly, then pushed back in, the way getting easier.

“Harder,” Neal gasped eventually, “please,” and hooked his legs around Peter’s thighs. Peter began to stroke in and out faster, finding his rhythm. Neal moaned beneath him, “Faster, faster,” pulling him closer with his heels, rubbing them against the backs of Peter’s thighs, and Peter complied. He looked down at Neal, who had his eyes closed, head thrown back in ecstasy, moaning. Peter leaned in and, snaking a hand behind Neal’s neck, lifted his head to kiss him on the throat. At the same time, he reached down with his other hand and began to stroke Neal’s cock, rubbing his thumb hard over the head. 

Neal’s eyes flew open, and he stared at the ceiling, a silent cry leaving him open-mouthed and gasping like a fish. Peter continued driving into him, continued tugging at Neal’s dick until he came again, ribbons of semen coating Peter’s hand. When Neal came, his hole clamped down on Peter’s cock, and he came with a yell, thrusting once more into that exquisite tightness. He then eased himself out of Neal and collapsed on top of him, breathing raggedly. 

They lay together like that for a long time, Peter half covering Neal’s body with his own, until he could once again feel his arms and legs. Neal moved first, reaching a hand up to the back of Peter’s neck, he pulled him closer and kissed him. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Peter thought that was an unusual thing to say and gave Neal a quizzical look. But Neal just shook his head and turned so that his back was facing Peter. He eased Peter’s arm around his waist. They lay spooning until Peter fell asleep minutes later. 

\----

Peter opened his eyes. It was later, he knew, because the light coming through the windows had shifted. Something woke him – Neal getting back into the bed. “Hey,” Peter said, his voice a little scratchy.

“Hey.” Neal was sitting on the edge of the bed and when he looked at Peter, there was something in his eyes that Peter couldn’t place; he seemed angry, or annoyed. The expression quickly passed, to be replaced by a smile so open and unguarded that Peter doubted what he’d seen.

Still. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s work. Just…quotas and deadlines. Boring shit.” He threw his Blackberry onto the nightstand and turned to Peter, a hand on his chest. “Hungry?”

Peter sat at his dining table sipping wine as Neal moved around in his kitchen, making them omelets. Neal certainly seemed to know his way around the stove, and Peter contented himself with watching it, loving the way his robe was too big on his new lover, the shoulders too broad, the ends of the belt just kissing the floor as he walked. 

_Lover_. The thought made him grin like an idiot. Neal and he were lovers now. He didn’t realize how much he wanted this until he had it. Didn’t know how big a hole existed in his life until he saw that maybe he’d found someone that might fill it – someone that fit into it.

As if reading his thoughts, Neal glanced over his shoulder at Peter and smiled, blushing. He was blushing and Peter found it so damn endearing he wanted to shout or cry or weep. He settled for something else.

“Are you whistling?” Neal asked, turning, the spatula in his right hand.

“I am. When I’m happy, I whistle. I’m a whistler.”

“You’re happy?” Neal asked tentatively.

“It’s not every day a man closes a deal that will save his company _and_ falls into bed with one of the most beautiful men on the planet.”

Neal blushed a deeper red, turned back to the stove. “Stop.”

Peter rose and walked over to him, got up close and ran his hands down Neal’s hips. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how attractive you are.” He kissed his ear.

Neal flinched away slightly, ticklish. “It’s not something I like to be reminded of.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, it’s…well, everyone just assumes I get what I get because of my looks. But I worked really hard to get where I am, and …well, it’s kind of annoying.”

Peter nodded, kissed him on the ear again. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I only like you for your big cock,” he said and Neal laughed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

OVER THE COURSE OF THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, NEAL LEARNED THE INS AND OUTS of Reynolds’ organization, and installed a Trojan virus that sent a copy of all records and transactions the operation generated to the FBI’s servers. He made a “new hire” in the form of probationary Agent Blake, who Peter wanted to let get some undercover experience. He didn’t think Blake could screw it up too badly, so he didn’t see the harm in Neal having a little backup.

But aside from records of Reynolds’ acquisition of the Cogent Pharmaceuticals stock, there was nothing that gave a clue as to what Reynolds wanted from the company, nor what the stolen data was going to be used for. They needed to find out who Reynolds’ partner was, and they needed more information.

Peter brought it up with Neal at their next meeting. Since Neal was undercover, he couldn’t be seen going in and out of the Federal building, nor could he be seen visiting an FBI agent in his home. They met at 3:00 pm daily in the sauna at the gym where Neal swam. It was a good place to meet – at that time of day, there were few other people around, but Peter found the circumstances distracting to say the least. The sight of a sweaty Neal wearing nothing but a towel, in particular, was a problem.

Given that they were on a case, their conversations tended to revolve around its details, with Neal sharing whatever he thought would be helpful. Peter missed their easy camaraderie, and regretted what he had said every day. But whenever he mentioned it, Neal shut him down.

Today, Neal was waiting for him when he arrived, looking excited.

“Something happen?” Peter asked.

“You could say that. Ethan mentioned to me that there’s going to be a party this weekend being thrown by his partner.”

“Finally, we get to find out about Mr. Big.”

“Well, don’t get too excited - he still hasn’t named him. I get the impression the guy’s a big deal somewhere. Like, a _big_ deal , Peter.”

Peter made an impatient noise. Something told him they were onto a lot bigger case than they would have thought at the outset. “We’ve got to get you into that party, Neal. We’ve got plenty to bust Reynolds with the boiler room, but it doesn’t help with the Cogent case.”

“I know. And I think I know just how to do it. How much money is in the FBI discretionary fund?”

“What are you thinking?”

“If I can bring in a whale, it’ll get me noticed and Ethan will bring me along to meet the boss.”

“I’ll talk to Hughes. How big a whale are we talking here? Orca?”

“More like Moby Dick. I need to make a splash.”

“Pun intended?” Peter nudged Neal with his elbow.

“I don’t pun, Peter,” he replied haughtily, but there was a twinkle in his eye that Peter hoped meant the chill that existed between them was finally thawing. In this room, _something_ had to be thawing. Peter mopped some of the sweat off his face with the towel that hung around his neck.

“It’s fun to pun. Punning is fun.” Peter attempted a smile.

Neal looked at him sideways, but eventually smiled. “If you say so.” 

“Neal, about the other week…” Peter began, turning to face his partner.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“But I want to. I have to, Neal. Things haven’t been the same since then, and I want to clear the air. What I said hurt you, and I need you to know how sorry I am. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t making fun. I don’t know what made me say it.”

Neal didn’t answer, but his face remained passive, and at least he was listening, so Peter took that as a good sign. He leaned forward. “I like you, Neal. I think about you. A lot, and in so many ways. Some days, it’s all I can do not to throttle you, and on others I’d just like to…well, do things that aren’t polite to mention in mixed company. But I can’t and I won’t, for the hundred reasons you said, not the least of which is _because_ you have feelings for me. I want you to know that I would never take advantage of them or of you. 

“You do mean something to me Neal, but I can’t do anything about it. I wish I could, but we both know it can’t happen.”

Neal sighed, nodded. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am. You need to know how much.”

“I do,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. “Thank you, Peter.”

 _He thanks me for breaking his heart,_ Peter thought regretfully, and left.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**AUGUST, 2009**

THE AFTERNOON AFTER THEY FIRST MADE LOVE, PETER RETURNED TO HIS OFFICE from a lunch meeting to find Neal waiting for him, a pile of contracts from the Haversham deal ready to review. Neal wore a pair of reading glasses with thick, black frames that made him look like an impossibly hot version of Buddy Holly, and Peter had to keep reminding himself of their promise to keep their relationship out of the office until their two firms’ business was concluded. But what he really wanted to do was fuck him senseless on top of the credenza, with Neal wearing nothing but those damn glasses. 

There was a knock at the door and Jerry entered, looking positively jubilant. “Hey – you guys busy? Am I interrupting anything?”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Peter said fondly.

“You’re right! But I just got off the phone with my buddy Kenny over at FDA and he says it’s looking good for a Phase I clinical trial for the HIV drug.” He did a little dance. “And it’s about fucking time.”

Peter and Neal both sat back in their chairs at the news. “Jerry,” Peter said, glancing at Neal. 

“What?” Jerry said, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s practically a member of the family by now. Besides, you’re under a non-disclosure agreement, right, Neal?”

“I am,” Neal said, still looking a bit uncomfortable, Peter thought, to be included in this bit of extremely confidential news.

“Well then…” Jerry said with a grin.

“Fine,” Peter said. “Now, what exactly did Kenny say?”

“He said the committee would rule on the findings in a month.”

“And?”

“He said the chair said the results of the lab tests looked interesting.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s it.”

Peter sighed. Jerry was a brilliant man, but at times a bit excitable. “That’s hardly a tacit approval for human trials, Jerr,” he said patiently.

“The glass is not always half empty, Peter.”

“No, it’s an eight-ounce glass with four ounces of liquid in it. Let’s not make too much of this. We’ve been down this road before.”

“Can we at least celebrate another non-rejection?” Jerry asked.

“Sure. Just do it privately, OK? If this gets out – even an inkling of it -“

“Fine, fine. Don’t want the SEC breathing down our necks. I get it, ‘Dad.’” And he left the office dragging his feet like a petulant kid.

Peter sighed again. “Sorry about that.”

“He means well,” Neal said. “Besides, it’s got to be good news, right?” 

“Not you too!” Peter said, exasperated. 

Neal just shrugged and went back to marking up his copy of the contract.

\----

**SEPTEMBER, 2009**

The next month passed in a bit of a blur for Peter. He and Neal had more meetings with investors, many of whom signed on based just on the fact that Haversham’s group was on board. Buzz for the company around Wall Street now was very positive as a result. If the FDA approval came down anytime soon, they’d be able to grow the company according to plan. Being a cautious man, Peter was disinclined to count his chickens.

On the personal front, things couldn’t have been better either, and he sometimes wondered how he had gotten so lucky. He saw Neal after work at least two nights a week, plus weekends, and the former workaholic in him was now abandoned in favor of a better “work-life balance,” as his assistant Penny was so fond of saying. He found himself happier, with more of a spring in his step than ever before, and sometimes he wondered if he ought to pinch himself.

It was with a spring in his step that he walked from the subway towards Neal’s apartment in Riverside one warm evening, a bottle of a Bordeaux he knew Neal wanted to try clutched under his arm. As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of Neal on the sidewalk out front, talking with a beautiful young woman. She was tall, with pale skin and long, glossy dark hair, with bright blue eyes Peter could see even from this distance. 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw them, not wanting to interrupt what was obviously a personal conversation. The young woman stood with her arms crossed, looking at Neal with an unreadable expression. Neal spoke to her quickly, gesturing animatedly with his hands, occasionally touching her on the arm. She shook her head at him, impatient or annoyed – Peter couldn’t tell which – and turned to go. Neal stopped her with a hand on her arm, she turned and he tried to kiss her on the cheek. She pulled away, gave him another inscrutable look and walked away.

Peter felt a twinge of jealousy as he watched them, as Neal touched her, kissed her. It was a wholly unfamiliar feeling – he was not the jealous type, he’d swear to that to his dying day. But seeing Neal with this young woman, someone closer to his age, and certainly more empirically attractive than Peter himself, he couldn’t help but give voice to the tiny, insecure voice inside his head that told him the prospect of a future with Neal was beyond his reach. The thought filled him with a kind of sorrow, and he suddenly felt empty, as if Neal was already gone from his life. 

Neal turned to enter the building and spotted Peter standing there. “Peter!” he called, hand raised in greeting. Peter walked towards him, and his emotions must have been written all over his face, because Neal asked, “What’s wrong?” as soon as he got closer.

“Nothing.”

“You look like someone took your puppy. What’s wrong?”

Peter didn’t want to answer, knew he was being silly, but he blurted the words out anyway. “Who was that woman?”

Neal’s face fell as he realized Peter had seen. “My ex, Kate.”

“Ex? How ex?”

“Several months. She came by to bring me a check for some money she owed me.” His face clouded over, brows knitting. “It was harder to see her than I thought.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said sincerely, but a very perverse, dark little corner of his soul thrilled to notice the distress Neal was in, that maybe he’d need Peter more.

“Anyway, I’ve moved on,” Neal said, brightening and resting his hand against Peter’s chest. “What’s that?” He pointed at the wine under Peter’s arm.

“That would be the 2006 Chateau Pichon Longueville you were looking for. I found it at that wine merchant in Tribeca I was telling you about.”

“That ought to pair well with the lamb chops I’m making tonight. Come on up – it’s going to need to breathe a bit.”

Peter glanced up at the edifice of the stately beaux arts building and once again marveled at Neal’s luck at having such a place to live – and his landlady gave it to him for a song. When they entered the apartment on the third floor, Neal crossed over to the stereo to pick out some music. “Will you open the wine? There ought to be a decanter in one of the cabinets there.”

Peter busied himself with finding the decanter, then the corkscrew. He opened several drawers with no luck, finally finding it in the last one, caught between the top of the cabinet and a flat wooden box that Neal had shoved in there. He pulled the box out with some difficulty – it didn’t really fit – and grabbed for the corkscrew. “What is this anyway?” he mused aloud.

Neal turned around. “Oh, that? Belonged to my dad.” He crossed over to Peter and opened it for him, showed him what was inside – an antique .38 Special that Peter swore looked like a movie prop. 

“Yowza.”

“I know. Used to have to keep one nearby when I lived with Kate down in the meatpacking district – lot of shady doings down there.”

“Kate’s your ex?” 

“Yeah. Anyway, I forgot it was even in there.”

“Is it loaded?”

“Probably. I don’t know – I don’t think much about it.” He shoved it back into the drawer and opened the fridge. “How about a martini before dinner?” he asked, removing the vodka from the freezer.

“Sounds good.”

Neal made the drinks and handed one to Peter, who reached for it stiffly. “You sure you’re OK?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m good. Sorry, just…seeing you with Kate…”

“You’re jealous.” Neal’s tone was amused.

“No! OK, yeah, maybe.”

“It looks good on you.” 

“Really? Because I don’t like the fit.”

Neal squeezed his arm reassuringly and Peter drained his martini, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread through him. He made an effort to relax, sitting at the table and watching Neal prepare their dinner.

“How was work?” Neal asked after several minutes of silence.

“Busy. And frustrating. The FDA wants more data before they’ll OK the trial.”

“Son of a bitch!” Neal said, jumping.

“What?” 

“Nothing, I – I cut my finger.” He reached for a towel to staunch the bleeding. 

“Is it serious?”

“No, it’s nothing. Did they give a reason for the delay?” Neal sounded annoyed, and Peter wasn’t sure it was because of the FDA or his clumsiness.

“Not one that isn’t just more bureaucratic bullshit.”

“Well, you know, half the deals we’ve closed depend on us hitting that milestone. Do they know what these delays mean to a company?” Neal was really angry, which surprised Peter, who’d rarely seen him mildly annoyed.

“It happens, Neal, it’s the nature of the beast. It stinks, and it means we can’t save lives, but it’s the deal we signed on for.” 

Neal stiffened, but then relaxed. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. It’s just frustrating as hell. After all you’ve worked for, this delay is just…unfair.” He fiddled with the towel in his hands, saw that the bleeding had stopped and reached for a Band-Aid in the cabinet.

“Well, thank you for your concern, it’s appreciated. And if it’s any consolation, you still get paid no matter what.”

“It’s not about my commission, Peter.”

“I know, it’s more about the bonus at the end of the year,” he snarked and Neal laughed, but the mirth didn’t seem to be touching his eyes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

PETER CHECKED THE FUNCTION FOR NEAL'S GOLD WATCH TRANSMITTER BEFORE THE PARTY for what seemed like the ninetieth time, and of course it was working properly. He didn’t know why, but he was unaccountably nervous about this evening. He handed the thing to Neal. “You sure you got this? You got this.” He needlessly smoothed the shoulders of Neal’s jacket.

“You’re like a dad on prom night. I’m good, Peter.” Neal shrugged Peter’s hands off him and put the watch on. 

“Something’s just not sitting right with me.”

“The gut?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be fine, Peter. I’ll use the code word at the first sign of trouble.”

“OK. Fine. Good. OK.” Peter muttered, more to calm himself than anything else. He watched Neal leave a little too intently, he knew, but lately he just felt more protective of him than usual. He knew it was irrational, but knowing Neal was hurt, regardless of how or why or if anyone was to blame made him feel guilty. And there was to be no thinking about how much their situation might be hurting Peter. That just wasn’t allowed.

Neal met with Reynolds, and they caught a cab, Peter and the team following in the van from a safe distance, the GPS in Neal’s watch making tracking them easy. They wended their way to the Upper East Side, stopping at last in front of a private residence in the middle of a relatively quiet block.

 _Is this the place?_ Peter heard Neal say followed by some response from Reynolds he couldn’t hear. There was a staccato tapping on the watch’s audio, a signal from Neal that he was about to cut the feed. Peter had insisted on this signal – the watch was conveniently cutting out too often lately – but it didn’t make him feel any less anxious. It meant Neal was being scanned for listening devices. 

The audio came back less than three minutes later, and Peter listened in on inane party chit-chat, the clinking of glasses and Neal making flirty noises with some woman. Meanwhile, they circled the block in the van for what seemed like forever, until a parking space finally opened up across the street.

An hour passed without incident – or progress – followed by another. It was past midnight when there was finally a development.

 _”There’s someone I want to introduce you to,”_ Reynolds said to Neal.

 _”Oh?”_ The party was loud and Neal had to talk loudly.

_”Our host.”_

_“Your boss.”_

_“My partner. Smartass.”_

There followed the sound of the two men moving through the party, and the chatter abruptly cut back significantly as they seemed to move to a more private area of the house. 

_”Interesting house, looks bigger on the inside.”_ Neal was saying, giving a play-by-play of his movements that Peter appreciated. 

_”I think this lower level used to be a Speak Easy back in the day,”_ Reynolds was saying.

There was sudden static over the line. _”Int..ting… tecture...wouldn’t think…all this…”_

“What is it, what’s going on?” Peter asked Jones, who was frantically playing with the dials on the equipment.

“I don’t know. Some sort of interference.” 

A few minutes of static followed, but Neal’s voice eventually came back. It cut in and out, making Peter wish he’d trusted his gut earlier and pulled the plug on this operation. _”Oh, hey, big gun,”_ Neal was muttering.

_”Yeah, well, this guy’s a little paranoid. Come on.”_

There was movement, talking, all punctuated by the static that kept breaking up the transmission.

“Shit.” Peter muttered, not knowing what to do. It wasn’t as if the four of them in the surveillance van could storm the place. He just hoped the celebrated Neal Caffrey survival instincts would get him out of there if anything bad happened.

A particularly loud burst of static was followed by a long silence. Peter timed it – ten minutes. Five more and he’d call in an anonymous tip to the NYPD. 

_”Oh no, I couldn’t,”_ Neal was saying suddenly, then more static. 

“Christ, Jones, can’t we boost the signal or something?” 

“This isn’t the movies, Peter. No, we can’t.” Jones was clearly as frustrated as Peter. 

But at least Neal sounded relatively intact, Peter reasoned. But at the same time, he thought he detected a false note of amusement in Neal’s tone – like he was pretending to be agreeable. In all the time he’d known Neal, he’d never shown even the slightest chink in his con man’s armor, and so Peter found this tiny slip up worrying.

More staticky silence followed, punctuated by the occasional phrase and Peter wanted to pull his hair out. 

_”…be right back. Loosen up, will ya, Caffrey?”_ Reynolds was saying.

Neal muttered something that sounded like _”Easier said than done.”_

_”Nostrovia!”_ Peter could hear in the background, and finally some clue came out of the evening.

“Well, they’re Russian,” he said, stating the obvious to Jones.

“Ya think?” Jones said, and if Peter were feeling less tense, he’d have laughed.

More blasted static followed by Neal saying, _”… had blinis for lunch. Yeah, what are the odds?”_

“Is he drunk?” Jones asked.

“Nervous,” Peter replied, and his anxiety level ratcheted up another notch. 

“Caffrey doesn’t get nervous.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Several minutes of more static-plagued non-conversation followed, until finally the transmission cleared. 

_”What did you think?”_ Reynolds was saying.

_”Think of what? Oh, your boss?”_

_“Business partner.”_

_“Boss. You don’t partner with a man like that. I’ll have to get back to you.”_

_“I know this wasn’t your scene, but there’s good money to be made here, Neal. You’ve got talents he’d really be able to leverage.”_

_“You flatter me. I will get back to you.”_

_“You don’t say no to this guy. You get that, right?”_

_“I wasn’t aware there was an offer on the table.”_

_“He wanted to meet you. That’s as good as an offer of employment. He’ll be in touch.”_

_“Great.”_

Peter could hear street noises.

_”Share a cab, Neal?”_

_“Nah, think I’ll walk home. It’s not that far from here.”_

_“Sure. Talk to you Monday.”_

There was the sound of footsteps and after a minute, Neal spoke over the line, his voice tight, tense. _”Peter, we need to talk. Meet me at my place.”_

\----

“Tell me you got that,” Neal said to Peter as soon as he walked in the door. He looked frazzled, flushed from his walk home, and agitated.

“We got diddly, Neal. It was all static.”

Neal shook his head. He was not disappointed, but…upset? Peter soon learned why. “Ethan’s backer is Alexei Kozlov.” He crossed to the kitchenette and started rooting among the wine bottles, thought better of it and took a bottle of vodka out of the freezer. 

Peter didn’t know whether to shit or set off fireworks. Kozlov was a Russian industrialist, who’d privatized half the country’s coal and electricity production in the 90’s and was a bona fide billionaire. But it had long been rumored he had his fingers in a lot more pies, from drug smuggling and counterfeiting to other, much more dark and sinister things. 

“Kozlov? Is here in New York?” A million questions went through Peter’s brain. What was he doing here? What was he doing in business with a pissant punk like Reynolds? And what the hell did he care about a mid-sized pharmaceutical company like Cogent?

All these questions would have to wait, because when Peter looked at Neal, there was clearly something wrong. His hand shook as he poured himself two fingers of straight vodka, and he didn’t calm after he’d downed it all in one gulp. “What am I drinking vodka for?” he scolded himself, and put the glass down. He shrugged out of his jacket.

“There’s something else. Something’s got you freaked out.”

“You mean aside from trading conversation with one of the most dangerous men in the entire world?” He took a breath. “There were girls there, Peter. Young girls.”

“How young?”

“Too young – thirteen or fourteen? Dressed like models, drugged to the gills. It was disgusting, like they were party favors for the guests.”

“Jesus.”

“I thought I was going to puke.” Neal shuddered at the memory. “Ethan just said, ‘Hey, I know this isn’t your scene,’ like it was a swinger’s club or some shit. Christ!” Neal sat at his table and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“I’m pulling the plug,” Peter decided. Running down mortgage frauds and jewel thieves was one thing, but putting Neal up against an international criminal rumored to torture his rivals to death was not part of their deal. “We’ll turf this to OC.”

“You will not!” Neal said, and the vehemence of his reaction surprised Peter. “We’re taking this scumbag down, Peter. You didn’t see those girls – they’re children, being sold like commodities, addicted to drugs and who knows what else. One of the guests commented to me that Kozlov always has the best merchandise. Can you believe someone could say such a thing about another person?”

Peter shook his head.

“No, Peter, while I draw breath, I can’t let this go – I won’t. We have to stop this guy. Tell me we can stop this guy.” 

Peter squeezed Neal’s shoulder and took a seat across the table from him. “While I appreciate your need to see justice done,” _More than you know, Neal_ “an investigation like this can take months. You’re our only in with these guys. Can you do that?”

“I’d like to try.”

“But I can’t let you.” When Neal scoffed, Peter leaned forward and put his hand on the younger man’s wrist. “I know you’re good at the long con, Neal, but just one meeting with this guy’s got you tied up in knots. I want to bring the bastard down as much as you do. But one of the considerations I always have to make is the safety of my people. If we send you in after Kozlov, I’m not confident that we can.”

“Dammit, Peter!” he said, but made no other protest. They sat stewing in silence, Peter chewing the inside of his lip, thinking about their next move. 

“What if we can flip Ethan?” Neal asked.

“People don’t flip on Alexei Kozlov. He’ll kill everyone you know – your second cousin – he’s ruthless.”

“But we know something he doesn’t. Ethan’s little scam with Cogent – whatever the primary one with Kozlov is, he’s buying that stock with his own funds. I don’t think it’s sanctioned by Kozlov. Whatever Ethan’s got planned, he’s hiding it. He’s planning to double dip or it’s a hedge against the other con. Either way, I don’t think Kozlov knows, and we can use that.”

“He’d be stuck between a rock and a hard place, wouldn’t he?” Peter mused. 

“Something tells me Kozlov isn’t the type of man that takes betrayal lightly.”

“That’s good, we can use it. Good thinking, Neal. When’s your next meeting with Reynolds?”

“Monday.”

“Monday.” They looked at each other, and Peter noticed the eagerness in Neal’s eyes, his obvious desire to see justice done. He suddenly felt proud of his partner and he told him so.

“What’s right is right, Peter,” he said, but Peter caught a slight smile of gratification at the compliment.

“Well, there’s right, and there’s putting yourself in danger to make things right. I don’t think the old Neal Caffrey would have even considered something like this.”

“The old Neal Caffrey would’ve been heading for the hills already,” Neal agreed with a smirk. “I was nothing if not a pragmatist. But you…you’ve influenced me, I can’t deny it.”

“I’m proud to take the credit. You’re a good man, Neal.”

Neal rose. “Don’t remind me. Now, get outta here, I need to take a very long shower after the night I’ve had.”

“Sure. Sure.” Peter got up and went to the door, opened it and glanced back at Neal, who was busying himself with tidying up. He paused as he took up the vodka bottle – a Russian import – and a look of sorrow flickered across his face. Peter knew from that look that Neal not going to be getting any sleep tonight, not after what he’d seen. But then his expression changed to one of resolve and stubbornness, and Peter saw Neal’s determination to see justice for the children he’d seen, to right the wrong and save them. The pride he felt in Neal almost overwhelmed him, and he forced himself to leave before he did anything they’d both regret.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**OCTOBER, 2009**

PETER WAS SITTING IN HIS OFFICE WHEN HIS PHONE RANG – Ginny Neske, his Director of Finance. “Ginny, hey, what can I do for you?”

“Peter, have you heard of a guy by the name of Avery Phillips?”

“Phillips? No.”

“He’s not one of the investors Sterling-McCann set us up with?”

“No. Why?”

“He’s been quietly buying lots of our stock for the last month.”

“How much?”

“Quarter of a million shares.”

“That’s 15% of our shares outstanding!”

“More like 18%. I just thought it looked weird, so…”

“No, good thinking. I’ll look into it. Thanks.”

Peter launched his browser and did a quick search – Phillips was apparently a trust fund baby with a lot of money to spend. Why would he be spending it on them? Their stock’s price had been hovering around the $20 mark for over a year, and they weren’t exactly Wall Street darlings lately. He picked up his phone and dialed Neal. He got his voice mail. “Neal, hey, it’s Peter. Something nutty’s going on. Call me back and tell me what you know about a guy by the name of Avery Phillips. Two l’s. Thanks.”

There was a knock at his door and his assistant Penny entered. She was as white as a sheet.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a producer from MSNBC on the line who wants to know if we’ll comment on the impending FDA approval of the Endomil trials.”

“What? No, they asked us for more data just a couple weeks ago.”

Peter’s phone suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. He answered the first line. “Peter, it’s John Maartens.” John was the account manager at their public relations firm. “I’m fielding calls from the Times, the Journal, CNN. What the fuck is going on?”

“What do you mean? Nothing is going on.”

“Well, there’s a feeding frenzy in the media and it’s your blood in the water. There’re rumors Endomil’s about to be approved for human trials.”

“Those reports are inaccurate.”

“Well, your stock’s going through the roof. We’re going to need to make a statement. I’ll have one drafted within the hour.”

Peter hung up and looked up to see Jerry standing in the doorway. “The stock’s at $51 and a quarter and climbing. Did news of the secondary offer leak, Peter?”

“No – Maartens says there’s news about Endomil – that there’s FDA approval for the trial.”

“Shit.”

“Penny, hold all my calls until I get to the bottom of this, and get Neal on the line.” Penny fled to the outer office.

“What the fuck, Jerry?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“I’m not, it’s just…we need to plug this leak before the SEC gets wind of it.”

“Peter, I can’t get Neal. His phone’s been disconnected,” Penny said, entering the room.

“What? I just left him a message. Try again.”

“Will do – and John Maartens is on Line 1053.” She left the room. 

Peter ran a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. “John, yes. What now?”

“I just got a call from Milton Friedman’s Dog – you know who that is?”

“Yeah, that pissant little blogger up in Boston.”

“Uh huh. That pissant little blogger is looking for comment. He’s the one that broke this story. Says he got an email from your office about the FDA approval, and he wants to publish the follow up. What do I tell him?”

Suddenly overwhelmed, Peter dropped the phone on his desk. What the hell was going on? Unsubstantiated rumors were one thing, but even some blogger’s report these days could ruin everything. What was he talking about, the leak had come from Peter? 

There was too much going on. He had Jerry and John clamoring for answers, several journalists begging for comment, and it was all too much. 

“Peter? Peter!” John’s voice called out from the receiver. 

“Peter, the SEC’s on the phone,” Penny reported from the doorway.

“ENOUGH!” Peter said, and everyone shut up.

Peter’s mind was reeling, he couldn’t focus, but he had to do something. He had to…

He picked up the phone. “John, tell Friedman I have no comment and someone’s been pulling his leg. We expect a full retraction.”

“He’ll never go for it, Peter.”

“Do it anyway.” He hung up and looked at Penny. “Tell the SEC I’m not here.” She nodded and left the room. Peter looked at Jerry. “I need to figure out what the hell is going on here, Jerr. Can you give me an hour?”

“Sure.”

“Take no calls, Jerry. I mean it. Not even your mother.” Jerry nodded and left, closing the door behind him. 

Peter looked around the office as if he could find answers in the plants or the artwork on the walls. He had never been this close to panicking in his entire life. Something was going on, something big, and he was at the center of it. How had this happened? Who would do such a thing? His mind was reeling and all he knew was that he needed to talk to someone who would have his back, someone that was on his side. He picked up his cell and hit the speed dial for Neal.

“We’re sorry, but the number you are calling is out of service. Please check your number and try again,” said a pre-recorded voice. Peter looked down at his phone – it was the same number he’d always called. He pulled up a contact record on his computer and called another number.

“Sterling-McCann. How may I direct your call?”

“Neal Caffrey's office, please.”

There was a pause at the other end as the receptionist clicked on her computer. “Could you spell that, sir?”

“C-A-F-F-R-E-Y.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no employee by that name here.”

“Are you sure? Can you check again?”

“I’m certain, sir. Are you sure he works at _this_ office?”

“Thank you,” Peter said and hung up the phone, a pit opening up in the bottom of his stomach as sudden realization dawned.

Realization that he’d never met with anyone at Sterling-McCann other than Neal. Realization that they’d always met in Peter’s office, and in public. Could they have been scammed? Could _he_ have been scammed?

 _No,_ he thought. _It’s impossible. Neal had introduced him to important investors, legitimate investors. He’d been there with them through all the ups and downs with Endomil. He’d had faith in the company, he’d…_

He had access to Peter’s email and phone. 

He had seen important company data on the drug’s development and sales projections.

He knew the FDA had delayed yet again.

Suddenly, Peter’s mind flashed back to different instances in his relationship with Neal and in their business dealings when there might have been an opportunity for him to access sensitive information. Meetings, times he’d left Neal alone in his office, or in a conference room. Neal’s anger at the FDA’s delays – so out of character. _The night they’d first made love._

Peter could feel a trickle of sweat streaming down his back. With numbed fingers, he took hold of his Smartphone and scrolled through his outgoing messages. There it was – a brief note sent to Milton Friedman’s Dog the previous night. He’d had dinner with Neal last night, and had excused himself to use the men’s room. Had Neal sent the bogus email while he was away from the table?

Peter felt sick, like all the blood had drained out of his body. His mouth was watering suddenly and he bent over and vomited into his wastebasket. Pulling out a handkerchief, he mopped the cold sweat that dotted his brow away, got up and left the office. 

“Peter, where are you going?” Penny called after him. “The SEC will not wait! Peter?”

He ignored her and headed for the elevators. He had to talk to Neal.

\----

When Peter arrived at Neal’s the door to his apartment was wide open and he was nowhere in sight. Peter entered to find a large suitcase packed near the table, a safe that had been concealed behind a painting standing open and empty. A hot poker of dread settled in his stomach and he looked out onto the balcony, wondered fleetingly if a jump from this far up could be fatal.

There was a noise from the long hallway that led to the closet and bathroom and Peter turned his head. Neal walked through the doorway, a black leather duffel slung over his shoulder. He was dressed casually – cotton pants and an open-necked shirt. He had a passport in his hands.

“Going somewhere?” Peter asked, his voice sounding dead and monotonous to his own ears.

Neal stopped in the middle of the room. “Peter.” 

“Neal,” Peter said, his voice cracking. “What have you done to me?” 

Neal blinked, set the duffel down beside the suitcase and looked at Peter with raised eyebrows. “I think you know the answer to that or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Do you know what an easy mark you were? Driven businessman, successful but not too big a whale. Smart. Eager. _Lonely._ Once I figured that out, it all fell into place surprisingly quickly.”

“You won’t get away with this. There has to be justice.”

Neal actually snorted. “Justice? When the FBI shows up – and they will, because I plan to tip them off – they’ll see records of you quietly acquiring stock under a variety of pseudonyms and shell corporations, they’ll have the email to Milton Friedman’s Dog, buy and sell orders – you name it. There’s your justice. You’re fucked, Peter.”

Peter flinched. “So that was your plan – a pump and dump scam?”

“Not originally. We were going to siphon off the investment cash once it was received, but too many of the deals were contingent on that damn drug making it to human trials. This was plan B.”

“We? Who’s ‘we’?”

“It takes a few people to pull something like this off. You met one of them – remember Mr. Haversham?”

Peter closed his eyes; their most significant investor, the one whose involvement closed everyone else, had been an imposter. 

“And by now you’ve heard of Mr. Phillips. He’s our money man. Vicious little prick, but useful to have around in a pinch.”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Peter whispered, his eyes still closed.

“God had _nothing_ to do with it. If you’re looking for someone to lay blame on, look in the mirror.”

“You’re saying this is my fault? Really? For trusting you? For _loving_ you?” 

“Oh, let’s not get melodramatic, shall we? You were gagging for a piece of ass from the second you met me, and I used it. You were a great lay, though, I’ll give you that.” 

Peter looked at Neal, agape, not believing his ears. Who could be this cruel? “What is wrong with you? What’s broken inside you that you’re like this?” 

Neal shifted his weight from one foot to another, impatient. “I guess I’m just empty inside, is that what you want to hear? That something is essentially missing from my upbringing, someone made me this way? I promise you, it’s not that complicated. Really. I do it because it’s what I do, who I am. I do it because I can.”

“I trusted you. I loved you,” Peter repeated, his eyes brimming with tears. 

“Well, I think we both can see the flaw in that line of reasoning now, can’t we?” Neal said sarcastically, and turned his back on Peter as he set the duffel onto the table and went to shove his passport into one of the pockets. 

Peter found suddenly that he couldn’t catch his breath, that the room seemed to be closing in, his vision tunneling. “Please,” Peter began to say, his voice thick with grief. “Neal!” But Neal ignored him.

He cast his eyes around the room, and they landed on the drawer in the kitchenette where he knew Neal’s gun was. It was ajar, and Peter could see the wooden box inside, its brass fixtures gleaming in the midday sun. Without a thought, he crossed over to it and pulled it out. Opened it. Took the gun in shaking hands and checked the chamber. 

“Are you still here?” Neal said wearily. 

Peter turned to look at him, holding the gun in both hands. “You ruined me,” he said to Neal pleadingly. “I loved you and you ruined me.”

Neal held up a hand, took a step back. 

Peter looked at Neal, and dammit, he still had the face of an angel. He thought Neal was this miracle in his life, but he had been so very wrong. At the end of it all, that was the part that hurt him the most – not the betrayal, not being used, but losing him. It was too much. He raised the gun.

“Peter, wait!”

 **BANG!** The first bullet hit Neal in the shoulder, and he staggered back. **BANG!** The second went straight through his heart and he fell to the floor, the table and chairs scattering behind him as he did. 

Peter stumbled over and looked at him. His eyes – those beautiful blue eyes – stared fixedly at nothing, an astonished expression on his face. His mouth was open, lips parted as if he was about to speak. Even dead, he was beautiful.

There was a clamoring downstairs. The house’s staff had heard the shots and were coming. Peter looked down at the gun in his hand. He imagined himself in jail, on trial, serving a life term in prison for securities fraud, theft, murder. The humiliation of it, of having been led around by his dick, suckered, betrayed. Was this to be his end?

No. 

Call him a coward, but there was no way he was going out like that. Peter raised the gun and held it under his jaw; flinched when the heat in the barrel burned him. He waved it around to cool it. Shook his head at the irony, said a silent word of apology to his family, and then blew his brains out.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

“OUCH IT’S TOO TIGHT!” NEAL PROTESTED, PROMPTING PETER TO PULL the bandage that secured the wire to his chest even tighter.

“We’re taking no chances this time,” Peter told him impatiently. “This equipment’s got a better range and stronger signal. Here, shove this down your pants.” Peter held out the slim black wire that was the thing’s antenna and Neal raised an eyebrow.

“There will be no jokes about me getting into your pants,” Peter warned and Neal pressed his lips together.

Peter was worried. Hell, if you held a gun to his head, he’d admit to being afraid that this operation was too risky. The bad feeling in his gut from the other night hadn’t gone away, merely intensified, and he’d spent two consecutive sleepless nights working out the details in his usual obsessive way. If he were to guess, he’d say Neal hadn’t slept much since Saturday either, though he hid it a lot better.

He watched as Neal snaked the antenna down the leg of his slacks, then handed him his shirt. “We clear on the details?”

“Peter, we’ve been over it a hundred times.”

“Humor me.”

Neal buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants. “I go in, get Ethan to explain the deal with Kozlov.”

Peter handed Neal his tie. “Let him think you’re interested, but don’t mention Cogent.”

“Right,” Neal said, smoothing down his tie and fumbling to insert a cufflink. 

Peter batted his hand away and fastened the cufflink, picked up the other from where it sat on his desk. “Try to get him to reveal as much as possible. We need him to admit to a crime on tape.”

“Got it.”

Peter tucked Neal’s tie up inside his collar in the back, smoothed it out for him. “You get the slightest whiff of this guy going hinky, you use the code word. What’s the code word?”

“Bananas.” Neal pulled on his jacket.

Peter smoothed the jacket on his shoulders, put his hands on them and looked Neal in the eyes. “Don’t try too hard. We’ve got enough to put this guy away for a long time. There’s no shame in closing this case, Neal.”

Neal nodded.

“OK, let’s test the transmitter.” He motioned to Jones to turn on the receiver. 

“Can you hear me OK? Testes, testes, one two three.”

Jones gave a smirk and a thumbs up.

“OK, it’s time,” Peter said. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” Neal answered. Peter wished they could both believe it.

\----

 _”But what does he want me for, Ethan?”_ Neal was saying. Their meeting had started five minutes earlier, and Peter watched his monitors as agents moved into positions around the building where the boiler room Neal had been running was located. It was after 6:00 and no one was around.

 _”Everything. Relax, I told him all about you, and he has a lot of projects going where your specific talents will be well-positioned. Knowing you, you’ll probably have your pick. Don’t sweat it, Alexei’s a nice guy when you get to know him, and very generous.”_

_”Well, that reputation certainly doesn’t precede him.”_

_”It’s cool Neal, I swear. Have I ever steered you wrong?”_

_”I suppose not. Sure, I’m in. You think I’d still be able to run this place? We’re turning a tidy profit here.”_

_”Yeah, that deal you closed last week really got Alexei’s attention. That’s why he wanted to meet you. You should be able to stay on here, at least for the time being – until the Feds get wind. Boiler rooms can be tricky – they usually have a shelf life. You’ve got to be ready to bail at a moment’s notice. Alexei’s got about a dozen of ‘em set up around the country at any given time. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you staying on here in the short term. But like I said, he’s got other projects for you.”_

_”Like the one you’ve been working on? The one that took you away from this? What’s that about?”_

_”It’s a longer con, that one. Complicated, but lucrative. We set ourselves up as an investment bank, the mark thinks it’s legit, so they give us whatever we ask for and call it ‘due diligence.’ Depending on how things go, we either line up legitimate investors and siphon off the cash, or else sell trade secrets overseas. It’s a win-win.”_

_”For you, maybe, not the poor suckers left holding the bag!”_ Neal laughed. Reynolds joined him. _”You ever pull it off before?”_

“Don’t push him, Neal,” Peter muttered, pressing the headphones closer to his ears.

 _”Not me, personally, but Alexei’s been doing it for years. He’s got a knack for picking ‘em.”_

_”So is that what this Cogent Pharma company I’ve been seeing all these transactions for is all about? I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, because we haven’t started selling it yet, and it’s odd that it’s sat this long.”_

“What are you doing Neal?” Peter said, sitting forward in his chair.

 _”It is.”_ Reynolds’ voice was tight suddenly, suspicious. Peter’s heart began beating a bit faster, and he exchanged a look with Jones.

 _”You know, given the way you describe the con, it’s odd that you’d buy up their stock too. I mean, it seems to me that either scam would put the company’s stock in the shitter.”_ Neal had that light tone to his voice, the one that Peter knew meant he was about to close a trap. He didn’t like it one bit. 

_”What’s this all about, Neal?”_

_”Well, I mean, if you’re working some sort of side deal, I want in. You can’t tell me these little transactions have been sanctioned by Alexei.”_

“Crap,” Peter said, standing.

“Stand by, stand by,” Jones was advising the agents on the ground while unsnapping his sidearm in its holster.

 _”You little shit, Neal,”_ Reynolds said, angry. _”You’d sell me out?”_

_”Don’t go bananas, Ethan,”_ Neal said, and a rustling coming over his microphone suggested to Peter that he was opening up his shirt. _”You already sold yourself out.”_

“That’s the code word, everyone. Move in, move in.” Peter said over the comm, ripped his headphones off and jumped out of the van. He sprinted across the street and into the building, taking the steps two at a time to the fourth floor offices. 

Suddenly, two shots rang out and Peter’s heart did its damnedest to exit his body through his mouth. 

“Shots fired! Proceed with caution!” Jones shouted from somewhere behind Peter. Peter pulled his weapon and ran faster. When he reached the entrance to the suite, two other agents were already waiting. Peter gave the signal and they busted the door down.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!” someone shouted, and Peter caught sight of Reynolds on the other side of the room, gun held out in a shooting stance. Faced with the prospect of a minimum of four federal agents behind him, he chucked the gun away from himself and put his hands on his head.

Peter entered the room, his eyes sweeping. There were lines of desks with computers, phones - a typical boiler room setup. Jones was approaching Reynolds with a set of handcuffs. But he didn’t see Neal.

 _Jesus, God, please,_ Peter thought. “Neal!”

“Right here,” came a voice from somewhere on the floor. Peter looked over towards the desk Reynolds had been standing in front of and saw Neal getting to his feet, dusting himself off. He’d apparently hit the deck when Reynolds pulled his gun.

Peter’s relief was so profound he thought his legs had turned to water. He holstered his weapon with shaking hands. “Christ, Neal, give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Sorry, buddy. I know, the old ticker’s still not up to snuff after that Novice case.” 

Peter didn’t know if he wanted to smack the smirk off his partner’s face or kiss it off. He walked over to the group by the desk. Jones was cuffing Reynolds, who was staring daggers at Neal.

“I can’t believe you’re a Fed, Neal.”

“Consultant, actually.”

“Rat,” Reynolds hissed. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“You’re hardly in a position to be making threats, Ethan. You just gave us what we need to bust Alexei Kozlov. And with what you know about his organization, I think he’ll be going away for a really long time.”

“What makes you think I’d rat on Alexei? I’m not completely insane.”

Neal’s tone changed to something livid, intense, infuriated, something Peter had never seen in him. “But you’d have to be insane to get involved with a man like that. I knew you had a dark side, Ethan, but I never imagined you had it in you to take up with men like Kozlov. How could you have been at the same party I was at and remain unaffected? How do you look at those girls – those children – and then go to sleep at night? I’m all for making a dishonest buck anyway a guy can, but that…that’s evil. You’re evil.”

Reynolds spat on the floor at Neal’s feet. “Well, I guess we have different definitions for that word, Neal. What do you call a man who turns on his own kind? Who rats out his friends? How do you do that? How do _you_ live with yourself?”

Neal’s voice was shaking with anger now, as he got into Reynolds’ face. “I do it quite easily. It’s who I am now. I do it because I can. And when it means taking scum like Kozlov off the streets, I do it with a fucking song in my heart.” 

Peter took hold of Neal’s elbow gently and tugged. At his touch, Neal relaxed, stepped back. When he looked at Peter, his face softened somewhat.

“Take him away, Jones,” Peter ordered. He stood with Neal as the room was cleared of people, and felt almost a vibration coming from his partner as he wound down from the day, the week, the case. “You did good, Neal,” he said, and sat down on the desk. He sighed wearily, glad it was over.

Neal sat down next to him, matched his sigh. “Thanks. I’m glad that’s over.”

“Justice was served.”

“I suppose it was.”

“It has its place,” Peter added, his tone leading. 

“I suppose it does.”

“You’re not gonna give this to me?” He kept his manner light, but he wanted to impress on Neal the importance of the issue.

“What do you want me to say, Peter? That I believe justice ought to win out over revenge? It’s not that black or white for me.” Peter looked at him, sincerely interested in his perspective. “I know it is for you, but for a guy like me, some things are beyond justice’s reach. Some things require action – personal action.”

“And who’s to decide what those things are? In a society with a criminal justice system, in a democratic society – “

“I’m not saying it’s rational, Peter. It just _is_. It’s what’s right. To me. I’m just one man. One man with an admittedly unique perspective.”

Peter smirked. “You can say that again. I will say that you’ve surprised me on this case, Neal. You’ve made me proud to know you. You’re an honorable man.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, which Neal eventually broke. “You know, this case, being around Ethan again – it’s got me thinking about our conversation a couple weeks back, after the Novice case. I’ve been wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t parted ways with Ethan when I did – or hell, if you’d never caught me! Would I be like Ethan? Looking the other way around men like Kozlov because of the money? Not caring who I hurt or what I did to them? When I imagine that – God, I pray that that’s not what I would become.”

“No. I don’t think you would.”

“I certainly hope not.” Neal shuddered, and a haunted expression crossed his features for the briefest second. “How about you, Peter? Have you given it more thought?”

“What, for me? What my life would be like if I’d taken a different path? Yeah, I’ve given different paths a lot of thought lately.” He turned his head, looked at Neal intently, but Neal was still lost in thought. 

Peter watched him, studied his profile, his jaw. The thoughtful tilt of his head, the troubled look in his eyes as he contemplated a life on a different path and its consequences, and found he wanted to alter it yet again. Take what they had together and put it on another road, another tangent, and see where it led. He reached out with his right hand, threaded his fingers in the hairs at the nape of Neal's neck, brought his face to his, and kissed him.

The kiss was light, almost chaste, and lasted just a moment, but it contained so many promises it made Peter’s head spin. 

“Peter –“

Peter kept his hand at Neal’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “I know. There are a hundred reasons not to. But I have one we didn’t consider before. I’m in love with you, Neal.”

“Oh.”

“And if my life’s at another fork in the road, I think I’d like to take the path with you on it. Because I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Neal. And I hope you feel the same. Do you?”

Neal said nothing, but Peter took the faint stutter in his breathing as he kissed him back to mean yes.

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
